Thirty-Eight
by emeraldorchids
Summary: When Miranda was 38, she married James, was promoted to Editor in Chief of Runway, gave birth to her two precious angels, and kept a journal documenting it all. Now, 25 years later, she shares this journal with her youngest daughter.
1. Ch 1 (present day)

A/N1: 2016 is my year of finishing things I've started, and that includes some stories. This unfinished story was called "How I Met Your Father" but I've since adapted it and taken certain liberties with timelines. Coincidentally, this is the 38th story I have published. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Thirty-eight was an important year for Miranda: she married James, was promoted to Editor-in-Chief, and gave birth to two perfect little angels. This is part 1 of 13.

* * *

 **THIRTY-EIGHT**

 ** _Present day, June 2023 —_**

"Thank you again for letting me come stay here for the next two weeks, Mom," Cassidy said as she sank back into the couch. "I'll always miss the townhouse because we grew up there, but there's just something so relaxing about being out here in the Hamptons."

"Sweetheart, you do not have to thank me. You and Michael—and Maxwell, when he arrives—are always welcome here. To be perfectly honest, I'm glad you and I get to spend some time together before the baby comes—just the two of us," Miranda said.

"Oh Mom, don't get all sappy—that's Andy's job," she said with a giggle.

Miranda set a tray on the coffee table with a pitcher of lemonade, some crackers, and two glasses. She poured the drinks and handed Cassidy a glass before taking her own and sitting next to her on the couch.

"I have something I want to share with you," Miranda said. She bit her lip, awaiting Cassidy's reaction.

"You're nervous," Cassidy observed. "What is it?"

Miranda set her glass of lemonade on the table and walked over to the chest near the fireplace, pulling out a leather-bound journal. She returned to the couch and handed it to Cassidy. "My journal."

"I thought you used that Moleskine one that Andrea got you for your birthday?" she asked running her fingers along the leather and opening the cover. "Oh my god," she gasped. She quickly flipped to the last pages of the journal, then looked up and reached for her hand. "Mom—this is the journal."

"Yes," she said. "I know we've talked about the _Runway_ stuff years ago, but there's a lot more in this journal. I started it just before I met your father, and once you and your sister were born, I just didn't have time to write anymore."

"So, the year you were pregnant—that's in here?"

"The good, the bad, and the ugly. All here," Miranda said. "I thought you might find comfort in it during the final month of your pregnancy."

Tears began to stream down Cassidy's cheeks.

"Sweetheart, it's okay," Miranda said, handing her a tissue as she kissed her on the forehead. "I cried a lot when I was pregnant, too."

Cassidy reached for her hand and squeezed. "Mom, will you read it to me?" she asked.

"Really?"

"Yes. Pretty please?" she asked. "You don't have to read every word—you can skip stuff. I just want to hear your voice right now. And," she paused, "can I lay my head in your lap?"

"Of course, darling. You just make yourself comfortable," Miranda said, gently running her fingers through her daughter's hair as she opened the journal.

* * *

TBC - Note: There are some scenes in present-day, and others are presented as a journal entry, followed by a scene. It's probably painful to read and jump around so much, so I apologize (but I'm not changing it). One of the things I struggle with most is perfectionism, and it probably sounds silly, but if left to my own devices, nothing would ever be finished because it's not perfect enough. I'm learning to live with words like suitable, satisfactory, and average, and I hope you can forgive me for knowingly submitting a mess of a story. xx


	2. Dec 1, 1996

**_December 1, 1996 -_**

 _I have been at Runway since May of 1993, over three and a half years. Before that, I spent my time jumping from one job to the next, never spending too long in the same place. That was me. I grew bored easily and welcomed the challenges that came along with learning a new company, a new department, a new position. For the most part, I worked within publishing—everything from the newsroom to advertising sales._

 _But now, I was thirty-six years old, and I was sick of watching rich white men dictate which careers were available to me._

 _Fashion, it seemed, was the singular exception to the otherwise patriarchal industry. The number of female-led fashion publications in New York alone was growing rapidly, so I set my sights on Runway and joined the ranks as an editorial assistant, just before the magazine's shares plummeted to an all-time low._

 _Nigel Kipling joined the team just two months before I did. He was my assigned on-the-job trainer, but soon became my mentor and best friend—the big brother I never had. Tonight, for example, he convinced me to attend the charity ball with him. I despised these events, but I knew he was desperate to meet someone. Since that could hardly happen naturally with our schedules, I agreed to be his arm candy for the red carpet, and his chaperone home if things didn't work out._

 _Never did I expect the night to turn out as it did._

* * *

Tonight was one of the first fashion industry events that Miranda Princhek ever attended. It was the CFDA's annual charity ball, and she attended with Nigel Kipling, her coworker extraordinaire and guru for all things fashion. He found a vintage Dior in an estate sale and custom tailored it for her. She had never seen herself as traditionally beautiful, but the rich black velvet dress perfectly complemented her porcelain white skin and deep auburn hair. Looking in the mirror, she saw that she looked stunning.

"Miranda, are you sure you don't want to dance with any of those men just drooling over you?" Nigel said, handing her another martini.

She rolled her eyes. "No thank you. I mean, can any of them even string a coherent sentence together? They work in fashion—they're surrounded by beautiful women all day—and to think they have sex written all over their faces. It's disgusting and humiliating. I need a new job."

"Whoa, calm down. Drink up, honey. Think of Christmas, and charity. They're harmless, just look the other way," he said.

"Easy for you to say," she added, downing her drink.

"Ms. Princhek?" a voice called.

She turned and looked up to see a handsome young man with the bluest eyes standing next to her. For a moment, she almost entertained the thought of a one-night stand. Shaking her head, she repeated to him what she'd said to all her other would-be suitors that night: "I'm not interested in whatever you have to offer."

"Ah, you see, that probably worked on those other putzes, but what's going to stop them at the next party?" he said.

Miranda looked up in surprise as he extended his hand.

"James Priestly, financial adviser at J.P. Morgan."

She cautiously took his hand. "Miranda, _Runway_ ," she said. It seemed perfectly acceptable to shorten the title for formal introductions. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He smiled and nodded. "Miranda, do you dance?"

"What? Yes of course, but not _here,"_ she said. "And probably not the type you're thinking."

"Why not here? This is a perfectly good ballroom, and you'll be happy to know that my mother sent me to ballroom dance lessons every Sunday for most of my childhood," he said. He saw Miranda's face light up at that, so he continued. "And furthermore, I know for a fact that the only way to keep those other men away forever is to make them feel disgustingly inadequate," he added.

"Oh, really?" she said, a smirk forming on her lips.

"Yes. Miranda, will you dance with me?"

She stared at him as if he had just grown two heads.

"Trust me?" he said, extending his hand.

Miranda didn't know this man, but he was charming and she hadn't been dancing—real dancing—in such a long time. She reached out and took his hand. "One condition: tell me why you're interested in helping me avoid them," she said, gesturing to the group of pathetic men.

"Because you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and you're at a party by yourself, sitting at a table in the corner and tapping your toes to the music," he said. "It's just a dance."

"I hope you're ready, Mr. Priestly," she said, tucking her bag into the chair and following him to the empty dance floor.

To be honest, she wasn't expecting him to be that great of a dancer. Miranda figured he could lead a waltz or two-step, but was blown away by his strength and finesse on the dance floor. After dancing through several songs, she caught herself trying to trick him into a misstep, but he was too sharp.

It seemed like hours that they were twirling around, laughing and getting to know one another. Finally, the orchestra announced their last song for the night, and James and Miranda took the opportunity to grab another drink from the bar before it closed.

"Miranda, you were fantastic," he said. "Not that I expected anything less."

"You know, you're not so bad yourself," she said.

He handed her a drink and raised his glass.

"To Christmas, and charity—"

"—and dancing," he added. "Now, if any of those putzes try to bother you again, you know what to do."

They finished their drinks as the party ended. The lights were on, the musicians were packing their equipment, and the bartender was cleaning up. Miranda retrieved her purse and wrap, and James led her out of the ballroom, his hand gently resting on her lower back.

Whatever was in that last martini really hit Miranda once they were outside. She was suddenly flushed and lightheaded all at once.

James wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and led her out to the car. Nigel and Miranda had been planning to share a taxi home, but when she looked around, it appeared he had already left.

"My driver will take you home," James said.

She gave the driver her address on the other side of town and looked over at her companion. "I had so much fun tonight, James. Thank you," she said, resting her hand on his knee.

"Don't thank me," he said. "Saying thanks implies a need, a debt that has been filled. I am happy that you enjoyed yourself, but I know you did not need me."

Miranda looked up at him and studied his eyes. He was smart and cunning devilishly handsome. His confidence was incredibly attractive. She was sure of what he wanted tonight, and against her better judgment, she was more than willing to give it. Miranda slid her hand up his thigh and leaned forward to hiss him.

He grabbed her hand and pulled it away while gently pressing a single kiss to her lips. Miranda kissed him back and once again moved her hand to his chest, but James' strong grip kept her from going further.

She closed her eyes and laid against his chest, holding his hand for the rest of the ride home. When the car stopped at Miranda's building, she asked James to come upstairs, and after saying something to his driver, he followed her inside. She wanted to kiss him again once they were in the elevator, but just before the doors shut, someone else joined them.

Miranda opened the door to her unit on the 28th floor and expected him to follow inside. Instead, he stood in the hallway.

"Mr. Priestly, aren't you coming inside?"

"No, Ms. Princhek, I'm not. I just wanted to see you home safely," he said.

She returned to the door and handed him his jacket back. "Are you sure you don't want to come in for a drink?"

"We seemed to have attracted some attention with our dancing this evening," he said. "I believe there are photographers outside, and, well I wouldn't want any less-than-accurate depictions in tomorrow's _Post_."

"Oh. Um, than—that's, um, that's kind of you," she said.

He smiled and took my hand, "I had a lovely time this evening, Miranda. I would very much like to get to know you more. Perhaps dinner next week?"

"Yes, I think I would like that. Goodnight."

On Monday morning, there were two dozen white roses at her desk, as well as a hand-written note card.

 _M, I thought of you all weekend but had no way to contact you. I selected white roses, as they provide a lovely backdrop for your own beauty. No flower could ever surpass you. Meet me at the Fairmont Tues 7. -JP_

She tucked the card in her bag just as Nigel was walking up to his desk.

He smiled and rolled his eyes, then tossed this morning's copy of the _Post_ at his co-worker. "Page Six, sweetie," he said.

Miranda quickly opened it and was shocked to see several pictures of herself and James dancing at the ball. There was one photo of him following her into her building, but the caption read "Chivalry is not dead: Mr. Priestly leads his mystery woman home and returns to his car minutes later."

She smiled and pointed out that caption to Nigel. "He knew the photographers were out there. He actually cared about my reputation enough to leave."

"Or he just wasn't into you," Carol said from the other side of the office.

"Oh, shut up and get back to work," Miranda said.

That afternoon, she told Nigel all about James—what little she actually knew—and he asked if she could see herself marrying him. Miranda had known him for less than three days, and despite having very little to base her decision on, she told him, yes, she could.

"Why on earth would you ask that?"

"Because, sweetie. You're 36. I know you can do better than this cubicle. I just want to see you out there, ruling the world," he said.

"Someday soon," she teased.

Over the next few weeks, Miranda met James for drinks and dinner and lunch and brunch. It was very peculiar how every date was centered around food and alcohol, but it was also December, so between shoppers, the freezing temperatures, and holiday parties, there wasn't all that much to do.

She didn't invite him back to her place again, but one evening, after an early dinner, he asked if she would like to come over for a drink. "Just a drink, nothing more," he said.

Miranda agreed, and to be honest, she would have agreed to more than a drink, too. It had been a long time since she had been seeing anyone seriously, and she'd been dating James for almost three weeks without much more than a few kisses here and there.

"Do you have plans over Christmas?" he asked. "Do you celebrate?"

"No. I was raised Jewish, but I stopped practicing long ago. Are you Christian?"

"Yeah, Catholic. I haven't been to mass since my father died. I was twenty," he said.

They talked about their families for a while. His mother and step-father lived in Maine. He wasn't very close with her, but saw her whenever his sister would invite everyone over. Lately, he said it seemed to revolve around the birth of another child—he had five nieces and nephews under the age of twelve.

Miranda confessed that she really didn't have any family except for a few cousins and distant aunts and uncles. She was an only child and her parents died several years ago, before she started at _Runway_. She told him that Nigel was her closest friend, like a brother, and that they usually spent the holidays together when all else failed.

"Well, Christmas is on a Monday this year, and I was thinking about heading out of town for a while. Maybe leave on Friday and come back Monday night. Just out to East Hampton. Would you want to come with me?" he asked.

Miranda took a deep breath and struggled to contain her excitement. "Yes, that sounds lovely. I was planning to take off Friday through Tuesday, so I am free whenever."

"Great," he said. "Let's do dinner on Thursday night. I have a meeting with a client, so I will have to meet you. Bianco's maybe? We can swing by your place afterwards to get your bags, and then head out that night."

She nodded and walked over to him, sitting in his lap. "I can't wait for this week to be over," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.


	3. Dec 21, 1996

**_December 21, 1996 —_**

 _I was finally beginning to understand what dating was all about. James was a good man. Funny, smart, comfortable to be around. He asked me to join him in the Hamptons over Christmas, and I couldn't help but imagine us shagging all day and all night. But first, we were having dinner in the city, and for that, I wanted to take his breath away._

 _I asked Nigel to help me with an outfit, and he found a vintage Dior sheath dress with an intricate reverse scallop neckline. It perfectly accentuated my figure, and I couldn't wait to see James' reaction. I hoped he would find me irresistible and finally want to take the next step. 7pm could not come fast enough for me…_

* * *

Miranda's bags were packed for the weekend, waiting at home, just inside her door. She was watching the minutes on the clock tick by all day. At lunch, James called to confirm dinner, so at 6:30 Miranda left the office and took a cab to the restaurant where they would meet. The hostess led her to a booth nestled in the back of the dining room, from where she could keep an eye on the door for James to arrive.

At half past seven, he still hadn't arrived, so Miranda ordered a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.

At eight, she asked the hostess if she could use the phone to make a call. She tried his office and his house, and even called home to her own answering machine to see if he had left a message, but there was nothing.

Slightly irritated and maddeningly hungry, Miranda asked the waiter for a menu and ordered herself a steak and asparagus. Eating alone was nothing new to her, and at that point, all of the diners around her had been recently seated, so no one knew she had been waiting at that same table for nearly two hours.

No one, except possibly the hostess, knew that Miranda Princhek had been stood up.

She finished the bottle of wine and paid the bill, and by that time she was irate. James didn't even call the restaurant to let her know he wasn't coming, and that was inexcusable.

Miranda took a taxi home and left word with the doorman that she was not home, should James show up. She unpacked her bags, then curled up on the couch to watch television. Just before midnight, the phone rang. She answered, cautiously, but didn't say a word.

"Miranda? Are you there? Listen, I'm so sorry ab—"

The woman hung up the phone before he could finish. He called back right away, but she let the answering machine pick up.

 _"Miranda, look, I know you're probably angry with me. I should have called. Whatever I say now is only going to seem like an excuse, so I'm not going to go into detail, except that it involved my sister and a hospital. Miranda, please forgive me. Call me back."_

"What are you doing here? I thought you were off?" Nigel said the next morning when Miranda showed up at the office.

"Change of plans. Sitting at home only makes me realize what a fool I was."

"Your knight in shining armor fall off his high horse?" Nigel said.

"Something like that," she said. "Tell me something to get my mind off him."

Nigel smiled. "I heard Elizabeth is stepping down at the end of the year."

Miranda's ears perked up. Elizabeth was the Fashion Director at _Runway_ for the past three years, and both Miranda and Nigel have been working really closely with her.

"Really? Does she have something else or is she retiring? She's too young for that," Miranda said.

"Yeah, definitely not retiring. But I also don't think it's really her choice at all," Nigel said. "You should make an appointment with Richard Bannister and make your case. Word is, they don't have a replacement in mind," he said.

She sat back in her chair as a smile crept across her face. "I'll set a meeting for Tuesday. You'll find me something to wear?"

"Of course, sweetie, but you should know Richard usually takes the week between Christmas and New Years off," he said.

"Fuck."

Just then, a delivery man came and with two dozen white roses in a lovely Christmas arrangement and set them on Miranda's desk. Undoubtedly, they were from James Priestly. Ignoring them completely, Miranda smoothed her hands over her suit. "Nigel, does this look okay?"

He approached and scrutinized the particularly flattering Bill Blass suit Miranda was wearing with a tight-fitting skirt. He reached up and adjusted the collar on her blouse, then, took a step back. "Wait, come with me," he said. He tugged her down the hall into one of the semi-private conference rooms. "Take that blouse off. I'm bringing you a camisole."

Minutes later, Miranda was wearing a lace-trimmed silk camisole underneath her suit jacket. It was certainly exposing more skin than she was used to in the office, and Nigel added a pendant necklace that sat just at the top of her cleavage.

She took a deep breath and returned to her desk, grabbing the flowers and tossing the card in her purse without reading it. She walked up to the receptionist and placed the flowers on her desk. "Susan, Merry Christmas," she said.

"Oh my gosh, Ms. Princhek, thank you!" she said. "This was so unexpected."

"Well, you are quite deserving. I'm wondering if you can do me a favor. I need to see Richard Bannister—it's very important. Can you let his assistant know I'm coming up?"

Susan looked a bit flustered, but then nodded and advised the woman to make it quick.

Miranda headed up to the 39th floor and took a deep breath. She had only been up here once before and it was on a weekend when no one was around. Richard's assistant wasn't at her desk, so she walked past and entered his office, shutting the door behind her.

"Excuse me?" he said, looking up. "Ms. Princhek, I don't recall having a meeting." He pushed his chair back from his desk.

Miranda walked right past the chairs opposite his desk and placed her hands on the rich walnut surface. The opulence of his office did not go unnoticed. She leaned forward and waited for his eyes to meet hers.

"Mr. Bannister, you need a new Fashion Director, and that is going to be me. I've watched this magazine struggle over the past few years and what _Runway_ needs is a strong woman at the helm. I will make _Runway_ the most profitable publication at Elias-Clarke, just for you," she said.

Miranda held her breath as she waited for his reaction, watching the words settle watched my words sink in. When she saw his eyes focused on her chest, she knew she had him hooked.

"Well, that is certainly an, uh, attractive, offer," Richard stammered. "Come here."

Miranda walked over to his chair, her eyes never breaking contact with his. He leaned back in his chair, and as if she had done this before, Miranda slid into his lap and wrapped her arm around his neck. One of his hands wrapped around her shoulders, while the other landed on her waist, slowly traveling upwards.

"It's an irresistible offer," she whispered. She felt him pressing against her thigh, so she reached down and cupped him. Miranda knew she was taking a huge chance, but the rewards would be worth it.

He groaned and bucked his hips, and his hand traveled up and down Miranda's stocking-clad legs.

She leaned over and whispered into his ear, "I know what really turns you on, Richard. Money—loads and loads of it. Promote me now, get me to Editor in Chief, and you'll have more money than you'll know what to do with."

He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head and he ended up pressing his lips to her hair. "Miranda, I have to get approval from the Board of Directors," he said.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," she whispered, raking her nails along the bulge in his pants. "You're very intelligent." Miranda pulled away and stood, smoothing out her skirt and fixing her hair. "So?"

"Um, yes. I mean, you've got it. Move into Elizabeth's office on January 1st."

"And the Board?" she asked.

"I—I'll handle them."

Miranda turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist, securing her to the spot.

"Oh Miranda, do not disappoint me," he said.

She smiled and nodded and left his office, heading for the elevators. As the doors closed, she let out a shriek of excitement. When she arrived on _Runway_ 's floor, she ran into Nigel and James Priestly at the reception desk.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Miranda, let me make it up to you. Please."

Miranda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am very busy right now. I've been promoted here, and you see, I have a lot to do in the coming weeks."

"You go girl!" Nigel cheered. She turned to him and smiled.

"Miranda, that's great. I just—"

"Excuse us," she said to Nigel, grabbing James by the wrist and walking him the short distance to the elevator. She pressed the down button and tugged him inside. "James, I can't screw this up. I need to focus right now."

He reached up and brushed her cheek, tilting her chin upwards to meet his eyes. "Miranda, again, I'm sorry about last night. But this promotion? I am so happy for you, really. You deserve this. I would never ask you to put me before your career, okay?"

He was so sickeningly sweet, and she was lapping the sugar right up. "Okay," she said, kissing him quickly. "I'm not sure that I will have time to see you right now, but—wait, is everything okay with your sister?"

He leaned over and kissed her again, this time leaving me breathless. The elevator stopped at the first floor, and Miranda walked with him out into the lobby. He stopped just before exiting the building. "My sister and brother-in-law were in a car accident last night. They're both okay, but she was pregnant, and she lost the baby," he said. "I had to go stay with the kids while my parents were with Sarah and Will—"

"Oh my god, I feel awful," Miranda said. "I'm glad they're okay, but losing a baby can't be easy on them. I feel like such a selfish bitch right now."

"No, no. Look, these things happen. What's important is that we can get past it. Right?"

She nodded. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. It felt good, being in his arms—so good that Miranda didn't mind the public display of affection in the least.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "I meant what I said—I don't want to come between you and your career. However, you need to eat, and if that means meeting you for a quick lunch or bringing you a late dinner after a long day, it will be worth it." He pulled away and squeezed her hand, then reached out for his sunglasses. "Call me tonight, if you can?"

"I will try," Miranda said, smiling.

When she returned upstairs, Nigel was waiting at the elevators. They walked back to their desks and before they could sit down, Susan came by with a brown grocery bag.

"Miranda? Excuse me, this just came for you," she said.

She looked inside and saw a handwritten note: _I know you're busy—thought I'd send lunch. Talk soon. xo JP (PS - There's enough to share with Nigel.)_

Handing the note to Nigel, she pulled a large salad and chicken kebabs out of the bag. There was a bottle of Pellegrino, too. "Wow."

"Honey, this man is too good to be true," Nigel said. "But first, tell me about this promotion!"

Over lunch Miranda told him about her meeting with Richard. She wasn't particularly proud of it, but she knew she'd be able to prove herself once in place, and Nigel agreed.

"So, do you think he's going to expect you to put out to keep the job?"

"No," she said, though not with full confidence. "But I suppose I'll have to address that if and when it happens."

"Okay, so tell me more about why you're not in the Hamptons right now," Nigel said. "Oh, and for what it's worth, I think fate probably had something to do with it—otherwise you wouldn't have gotten that promotion."

Miranda laughed. That was definitely not something she had thought about, but he made a good point. "James didn't show up at the restaurant, and it turns out his sister and her husband were in an accident and he had to go sit with his nieces and nephews. I overreacted, but I don't think that whole 'fate' thing will work here."

Nigel agreed. "You know, it's going to be a learning process for you—balancing work and a personal life," he reminded me.

Miranda knew that, and she didn't want to think about it on the heels of her meeting with Richard Bannister. Miranda and Nigel finished their lunches before getting back to work.

Later that evening, she called James, even though it was after midnight when she got home. He was waiting up for her call, as it turned out. He invited her out for dinner on Christmas Eve, and she happily agreed.


	4. Dec 24, 1996

**_December 24, 1996 —_**

 _I was extremely nervous to see James tonight. While I knew that our relationship was leading up to this, I still couldn't help my insecurities. James was a perfect human being, and why he would choose a petite redhead with a crooked nose, I cannot fathom._

 _But it was Christmas, and aside from watching some sappy movies with Nigel, I had no plans. I am trying to convince myself that this could be the beginning of the rest of my life, but it's not quite sinking in. I am sure I will screw it up somehow._

* * *

James made reservations that evening at Carmine's, and when he came by to pick Miranda up, he knew it was going to be a good night. She was wearing an incredibly sexy emerald velvet spaghetti strap dress with a gold lace wrap draped over her shoulders, like the gold had dripped and melted onto her.

Dinner was delicious, and they mostly kept conversation casual, discussing work and the weather and the news. After leaving the restaurant, Miranda suggested walking around for a while. Everything about the evening was perfect: like a post card of New York. Dinner. Walking down Fifth Avenue in the snow while the trailed behind. Stopping for a cocktail at every bar they passed. Driving through Central Park. Falling asleep on James' chest in the car.

"Darling," he whispered. "It's past midnight. I can have my driver take you home, or," he paused for a minute and let Miranda sit up straight. "Would you like to come to my place?" he asked, tenderly brushing the hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear.

"Yes, that sounds fine," she said, kissing him softly as the driver pulled up to the condo.

They made their way inside, and Miranda casually asked whether he was planning to see his family for Christmas. He said that he initially wasn't planning to, but after the accident, he decided to drop by for dinner with everyone.

"I would really like for you to meet my family, but I don't think tomorrow is a good time, given the accident and everything," he added.

"I completely understand," Miranda explained, "and look forward to meeting some or all of your family when the time is right. And speaking of the right time," she said while he unlocked his door. "You, Mr. Priestly, couldn't be more attractive than you are right now."

"Oh really?" he teased, pulling the woman inside and pushing her up against the door. He put his lips to her neck and trailed kisses along her collarbone. "So that would mean you want me to keep this shirt and tie on, then, is that what you're saying?"

Miranda could feel the heat growing between her legs. They had only been dating for three or four weeks, but to her, it felt like much longer. She had wanted to have sex with him that first night after the benefit, but his chivalry was so charming, she chose to follow his pace. Tonight, she was more than ready.

She tugged on his tie and pulled him in for a kiss. When they broke for air, they were halfway to the bedroom. Miranda let her jacket and wrap fall to the floor. "That's not what I meant and you know it," she said.

He grinned and picked Miranda up and carried her to the bedroom. He set her down on the bed carefully, as if she would shatter on impact.

She pulled him closer for a kiss, then whispered into his ear, "Let's save the slow and gentle for another time." She could feel him tense up, so she snaked her tongue around the outer shell of his ear. "It's Christmas, and all I want is _you_ , inside of _me_."

"Ohh, fuck, that's so hot, Miranda," he panted.

She reached down and pulled her dress up around my waist, then tried to push her underwear and stockings down. He raised himself up a little, enough for her to maneuver out of her underwear, and he unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the side. Miranda grabbed his waistband and pulled him back down, unzipping his pants and quickly stroking him. She slipped her arms out of the spaghetti straps and pushed the dress down past her strapless bra, her fingers quickly finding her aching nipples. She could feel James cautiously hovering at her entrance. Miranda quickly reached around and dug her nails into his ass. "James, fuck me. Right now," she hissed.

Several hours later, Miranda woke feeling pleasantly sore and desperately needing to pee. She extricated herself from James' arms, and apparently woke him up in the process. Leaning over to kiss him, she whispered that she needed to use the bathroom and would be right back.

"Wait," he said, sitting up. "I have something for you."

"What? It's three in the morning," Miranda said.

"I know, just wait there," he said, crawling out of bed and slipping on a pair of boxers as he went over to his closet.

She sat up and wrapped the sheet tightly around herself as she felt the loss of his body heat. He returned with a lavender box from Bergdorfs and set it down on the bed before her.

"It's just a little something," he said with a shrug. "Merry Christmas."

Miranda smiled and quickly opened the packaging and found a La Perla emerald silk negligee and matching robe. Also in the box were a few pairs of modest nude-colored silk panties. "This is such a surprise," she said. "I'm sorry I don't have something for you."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I hope you don't take it the wrong way, but I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable here. You were going to get up and go to the bathroom, which is what made me think of the robe."

She pulled him closer and kissed him. It was incredibly thoughtful of him, and she was grateful that she would at least have clean underwear to wear home in the morning. When Miranda came back from the bathroom, she crawled back into bed and laid her head on his shoulder. Her hand traced circles on his chest before snaking beneath the covers.

Later that morning, Miranda let his driver take her home. She was freshly showered, dressed in one of James' undershirts, a pair of his sweatpants that she wore cuffed, and of course her Manolo Blahnik gold stilettos.

Christmas morning in New York City never felt more beautiful. When she got home, she quickly called Nigel and he agreed to meet her for a bloody mary and brunch.

Over the next week, Miranda was hard at work finishing up her current projects, or at least documenting them enough for a new person to pick up without much downtime. Once it was announced that she would be the new Fashion Director, Elizabeth began directing all emails and inquiries to her, which was to say the least, incredibly overwhelming. However, she managed to find time every night to talk with James, even if she was too busy to physically see him.

On Friday night, when Miranda was leaving the building, it was after ten o'clock. She usually took a taxi this late at night, but being a Friday, she knew it would be next to impossible to find one. Sighing, she turned and headed for the subway until a car horn caught her attention.

"Ms. Princhek!" Miranda recognized James Priestly's driver and walked over. "Ms. Princhek, Mr. Priestly has asked me to bring you to his condo," he said, holding the door open. "If you'd prefer, I can take you to your place or wherever else you'd like. It matters none to me, ma'am."

She smiled and got in the backseat of the car. It was warm and comfortable and she would be happy spending the night in the cozy car outside of Elias-Clarke, to be honest. The driver cleared his throat, and Miranda opened her eyes and sat up.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Priestly's, please," she said. She was beyond exhausted, and hoped James wouldn't mind if all she wanted to do was sleep.

When she sank back into the seat, she noticed there were a few shopping bags next to her. She peered inside and found a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, a few casual sweaters from Hilfiger, a pair of Valentino wide-leg trousers, a crisp white Ralph Lauren blouse, a Diane Von Furstenburg dress, as well as tights, lingerie, what looked like the entire line of Chanel makeup, and drugstore toiletries like a toothbrush, deodorant, a good conditioner, and a loofah.

Miranda knew these had to be for her, from James, and her heart melted at his kindness and generosity. Tucked into one of the bags, she found a notecard:

 _M- Should you decide to come tonight, I want you to feel comfortable and not worry about rushing home before heading back to the office. I know it's been a long week for you, so tonight I offer a cup of tea, a hot bath, clean sheets, and a warm bed. xo JP (PS - if you're not coming by, please call to let me know you made it home safely.)_

The woman couldn't help the tear that escaped her eye at the note. Not only did this man shower her with expensive gifts, he put serious thought into them. She made a mental note to go to Bergdorfs with him the next time they were out, just so she could introduce his stylist to the mystery woman she'd been dressing.

When the car arrived at his building, the driver helped her out and carried the bags inside. James' doorman offered to help carry them upstairs, but she politely declined and headed for the elevators, swaying and almost falling over as she reached for the button.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" the doorman asked.

"Yes, just tired. Thank you," she replied.

Knocking on his door, Miranda suddenly felt lightheaded, as if she had been standing for hours on end. She dropped the bags and leaned against the doorframe, practically collapsing into his arms when he opened the door.

"Miranda, what's wrong?" he asked, helping her to the couch.

"I'm fine—give me a minute," she said, waving him off. He brought the bags in from the hall and locked the door, then returned to take a seat on the edge of the couch, where Miranda was laying down.

He brushed the hair out of her eyes and gently felt her forehead. "Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked.

"No, I think I'll be okay. I haven't eaten, and all I had to drink today was coffee," she explained.

"Can I make you toast and a poached egg? With some tea or water?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you. Wait—" she called after him. When he returned, she leaned over and kissed him. "Hello. I've missed you," she said, smiling.

"Same," he said, "but you're worrying me." He brought her a glass of water, then went back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later he brought a plate of food and a cup of hot tea. Miranda was at the point where she no longer felt hungry, but she knew she needed something to keep her blood sugar up.

After letting the food settle for a bit, she let James draw a bath in his vintage clawfoot tub, and it was divine.

The next thing she knew, she woke up in bed, the sun shining through the curtains. She was wearing a soft cotton jersey nightshirt, and on the other side of the bed, James was wearing a t-shirt and boxers, reading the Saturday _Times_.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, setting the paper down.

Miranda turned over and snuggled back into the covers. "Morning."

"How are you doing this morning? Feeling rested?"

"Not really," she groaned.

James suddenly looked concerned. "Let me take you to the doctor, just to be sure it's not something serious."

"No," she said. "I'm just thirsty and stiff. I'll be okay." She sat up and leaned against the headboard next to him. "I don't even want to know what time it is. The fact that the sun has been up for a while says it's far later than I wanted to sleep till."

"Stay here, I'll bring you a bottle of water and some ibuprofen," James said.

He came back with the water and medicine, as promised, as well as a cup of coffee for himself. She took the pills and drank the entire bottle of water. When he brought the steaming cup of coffee to his lips, she immediately leaned over, kissing him on the corner of his mouth, then stealing a sip of coffee from his mug.

He laughed and put the coffee down as he took her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

After laying in his arms for a few minutes, Miranda decided there was something she needed to tell him. "Thank you for being so good to me, James. I want you to know that it's in my nature to look for the faults in things. From everything I can see, you are entirely perfect, and it makes me question what I have done to deserve to be here, in your arms."

"Oh, Miranda, you are beyond deserving. It's I who feel unworthy. You are the best thing that's happened to _Runway_. I realize it's not evident to you because you're buried in work at the moment, but you are going to be as important to the industry as Christian Dior or Coco Chanel. I can feel it," he said.

She could hardly believe what he was saying, but chose not to start an argument. A change of subject was in order. "You know what would be amazing right now? A massage."

He laughed and agreed, and gave her the most wonderful massage she could have imagined. By the time she was showered and dressed, it was already after noon, so they went for a late brunch before Miranda headed back to work.

"So, tomorrow night is New Year's Eve," James said.

"Yes, I almost forgot. What did you want to do?" she asked.

"Well, I promised to take my twelve-year-old niece to Times Square to watch the ball drop this year."

"Ahh, I see. I have some competition," she said with a smile.

"No, of course not. I mean, would you be interested in joining us? My brother-in-law is dropping her off around 6pm, and we were going to order pizza and play board games for a while, then head over to Times Square around eleven."

"It's going to be so crowded by that time, you know," she said.

"Yeah, but I know she doesn't have the patience to stand out in the cold for more than an hour. As long as there's confetti falling on her, I think she'll be okay," he said with a laugh. "So, will you join us?"

"Does your family know about me?"

"That we're dating? Yes, of course. Why? Is that a problem?"

"No, no," she said. "I just didn't know if I could be myself, or if I would have to pretend to be some work friend or something."

"No, of course not. Everyone is looking forward to meeting you, but my family can be overwhelming. My niece Sabrina will be a good start. She'll report back to everyone else," he added.

"So, win over the pre-teen niece or else?"

"Miranda," he said, reaching his hand across the table to take hers. "I have no doubt that my family will love you, but I want you to know that it doesn't matter to me. I mean, if for some reason they didn't, I still would. Love you, that is."

Miranda squeezed his hand and looked upwards to keep the tears from her eyes as she blinked rapidly. "See, James, you say you're not perfect, and this is what I have to work with." She reached for her glass of water and took a sip before continuing. "But yes, I will gladly join you and Sabrina tomorrow night. Is it okay if I come by around 8 after pizza? Nigel and I sort of have an annual tradition."

"Of course. That will give me some time to catch up with her, too."


	5. Jan 1, 1997

**_January 1, 1997 —_**

 _My heart is bursting with love for this man that I've only known a few weeks. I've always been fiercely protective of my heart, hesitant to enter a new relationship for fear of misjudging him and ending up divorced again. But…James is different. He's normal. Boring, sometimes. But incredibly perfect for me._

 _We spent the evening with his niece and my heart melted at how sweet he is to the young girl. He would be a wonderful father, and for the first time in my life, I can picture myself as a mother, raising children, starting a family with James._

 _I hoped and prayed that I would not screw this one up._

* * *

"Did you have fun in Times Square tonight, Sabrina?"

"Yes, it was so cool! I can't wait to show my friends the pictures when we're back in school," she said.

"Did you brush your teeth and wash your face?" Miranda asked.

"Yep! Goodnight Uncle Jim, goodnight Miranda," she said.

"Goodnight, Sabrina."

"Come wake us up if you need anything," James said.

Once she shut the door to the guest bedroom, Miranda straightened up the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters, leaving a glass out in case the young girl needed a drink of water in the middle of the night.

James came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She set down the sponge and turned around, kissing him softly. "Uncle 'Jim?'" she asked.

He blushed. "Yeah, um, everyone I know calls me 'Jim.'"

Miranda raised her eyebrows in a look of confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me that? You introduced yourself as 'James,' so I always went with that."

He shrugged. "Seemed too common. You are too beautiful to be seen with an ordinary 'Jim.'"

Miranda laughed and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You are too funny—and anything but ordinary." Then, she pulled away and looked at him in all seriousness. "What do you prefer? Would you like for me to start calling you 'Jim?'"

"No," he said. "At first, I thought that maybe once we got to know each other better, I would ask you to, but there's something about the way 'James' rolls off your tongue. You're the only one that calls me that, aside from my grandmother when I was about three."

"Comparing the girlfriend to your grandmother, now?" she quipped.

"You're too sexy to ever be a grandmother," he said.

Miranda frowned at that comment, and he definitely noticed. She didn't want to have the children discussion—not tonight. After spending the time with his niece and for once in her life being hopeful for a family of her own, she wasn't ready for the rejection. They had only been dating for a month, and she just wasn't ready to push things.

"Tell me, are there any other nicknames I need to know about?" she asked, reverting to the previous topic.

"Yeah, a lot of people call me 'J.P.' too. Mostly my college buddies. And my sister. 'Uncle J.P.' just doesn't have the right ring to it, so in front of the kids I'm 'Jim.'"

"Well, maybe I should just stick to calling you 'Mr. Priestly,' to be safe," she said.

"A fine choice, Ms. Princhek," he said, extending his hand and leading her to the bedroom. They left a dim light on in the kitchen for Sabrina, then made their way to his bedroom.

Miranda got ready first, and wore a modest silk cap-sleeve nightgown that hit just above the knee. James looked shocked, and a bit disappointed, but she reminded him that his twelve-year-old niece could come in at any moment.

They crawled into bed, James in his boxers and Miranda in her nightgown.

"Happy New Year," Miranda said as she curled up alongside him.

"Happy New Year," he replied, wrapping his arms around the woman. "I think 1997 is going to be an amazing year," he added.

She sat up and looked down at him. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course. Why not?"

She sighed and laid back against the pillow.

He reached over and turned on the light, sitting up against the headboard. "What is it?" he asked.

"It has been great spending time with you lately, but my new job starts today," she explained. "I want to give you fair warning that I have no idea what it's going to be like for the next few months, that I might not be able to see you as much. I essentially promised the Board of Directors that I would make money for them, and I have no idea whether or not that's even possible at this point. Tuesday morning I'm meeting with our CFO to get the numbers. I may have signed up for an impossible task, and well, I just want you to know that even if we're not seeing each other much because of my schedule…well, I can't ask you to make any promises, but just…talk to me, first, if it's not working out…okay?"

"Darling, what are you trying to say?"

"I don't want to lose you," Miranda said, burying her face in her hands. "You're going to get bored and angry with me, and you're going to find someone else."

James hugged her tightly and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Darling, you are getting too far ahead of yourself. If it makes you feel better, I promise that I will say something to you if I'm frustrated, even if I know it will make you angry. What can I do to make you trust me?"

"Just keep your word. That's all."

"Okay, sweetheart. I promise you. We'll make it work. I tend to be busier during the first half of the year, too. I meant what I said—I won't ask you to sacrifice your career for me," he said.

"James, how do you feel about children?" she asked after a few minutes.

He paused for a moment and looked down into her eyes. "Look, if this is because of that grandmother comment from before—I didn't mean it like that. I think that when the time is right, you would be a wonderfully loving—and stylish—grandmother. Okay?"

Miranda nodded. "You're a good uncle to your sister's kids, if tonight was anything to go by," she said.

"I love kids," he said with a sigh. "I'm guilty. But, I know that it doesn't work for everyone, so if I don't have kids of my own someday, I would just be the best damn uncle ever. And great uncle, maybe even great great uncle."

"For some reason, everyone assumes I don't want children. Maybe it's because I'm in my thirties and not married and living in Manhattan. I don't really understand," Miranda said. "For the record, I adore children, particularly babies. I would very much love to have my own some day, if things work out."

"Miranda, you'd be an amazing mother," he said.

At that moment, Miranda knew she loved James Priestly. She wanted to shout it from the rooftop, but instead, she kissed him. He turned out the light, and they went to sleep, in silence.


	6. July 10, 1997

** Warning for this chapter - dubious consent situation and het sex **

* * *

 ** _July 10, 1997 —_**

 _It was just over six months ago that I was named Fashion Editor at Runway. It's been hard work, but things are going smoothly. I've built relationships with designers and photographers, most notably the up-and-coming John Galliano, and I was able to secure a promotion for Nigel to Associate Art Director. We collaborate on every issue, and Runway has seen revenue increase both month-over-month and year-over-year._

 _My personal life has been challenging at times, but James and I have found ways to make it work. We chat online during the week using instant messenger, and that allows us to keep in touch despite our busy schedules. I spend six days a week in the office, but on Sundays, James and I have a standing brunch date. I usually stay at his place on Saturday night—sometimes we'll go out for a cocktail or dancing—and we spend Sunday mornings relaxing in bed. I realized the other day that I spend more waking hours in James' place than I do my own. It's a pity to waste so much in rent just to store my growing wardrobe._

 _My life is almost too perfect. I often wonder if James will propose to me. I know my answer will be yes, and I've even dropped hints his way. Of course, I am happy with my life as it stands. I couldn't imagine trying to plan a wedding on top of all the work I'm already doing for the magazine. In fact, I would probably rather have some quiet ceremony somewhere far away from work._

* * *

Miranda walked in to the office, berating her assistant over the phone for double-booking her appointments and causing her to miss her meeting with Donna Karan. She threw her bag down on the empty desk outside her office—her assistant was god knows where doing god knows what—and marched over to her desk, slamming the phone on the glass surface.

"Good morning to you, too," Nigel said.

Miranda's head shot over to the other side of her office, where Nigel was sitting on the sofa with Donna, reviewing some of her latest designs.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Miranda said, rushing over. "My assistant double-booked me and—" she paused to take a deep breath. "My apologies, but thank you for coming by."

"Not a problem, Miranda. Nigel was sharing some of the artistic inspiration for the September issue, and I think I have the perfect dress for the cover," Donna said, showing Miranda the sketchpad.

Miranda reviewed the design and agreed. It was gorgeous and would perfectly tie-in the other designs she already had lined up. "When will it be ready? I was hoping to have Demarchelier do a cover shoot in the next two weeks."

"It's finished, actually. Come by the studio on Monday to see it in person," she said, taking her sketchbook back and standing up.

"Wonderful, we certainly will," Miranda said as she shook her hand. "Again, my apologies, but I'm glad you were able to sit down with Nigel."

"Of course. Ciao!" she called, heading out towards the elevators with Nigel.

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose and walked back over to her desk. She was wearing a black strapless minidress beneath a floral Versace jacket that came down almost to her knee. It wasn't very heavy, but she had worked herself up into a sweat in the past few minutes, so she took the jacket off and gently draped it over her chair.

"Hubba hubba," Nigel said, returning to her office. "Hot date?"

"No. Stress sweat," she said, rolling her eyes. "Find some models for this cover shoot. Let's check the weather and aim for Wednesday or Thursday—that will give us enough time to make any changes."

"Will do, boss," he said. "Oh, and the assistant wanted me to tell you Richard Bannister wanted to see you in his office as soon as you arrived."

"Great," Miranda said, rolling her eyes. "He's either going to chastise me for the third quarter budget I submitted, or give me another promotion."

"Ha, I wouldn't put money on the latter, although…with that dress…" Nigel said.

"Oh shut up. Wish me luck," she said as she pressed the elevator button to go up to the 39th floor.

"Hi Julie, Richard wanted to see me?" she asked, stopping at his secretary's desk.

"Oh yes, just a moment," she said, poking her head in his office. "He'll see you now," she said, holding the door open for Miranda and shutting it behind her.

"Ah, Miranda, just the person I wanted to see," he said, walking around his desk and towards the door. He turned the lock and asked, "Would you like a drink?"

"No," she said. "It's 9:30."

"I realize that, it's just, a drink might make our meeting go more smoothly," he said, pouring a glass of vodka and handing it to her.

Her eyes widened as she accepted the glass. Her hand was visibly shaking as she quickly downed it, the clear liquid burning her throat as it seeped down. She handed the glass back. "What was it you wanted to meet about?"

"There's this matter that, uh, requires your attention," he said, leaning against his desk and unzipping his pants and exposing himself. "You've clearly proven yourself adept at handling whatever situation comes your way, and, well, if you're still looking to be promoted to Editor in Chief at the end of the year, well, you are going to need to produce more satisfying results."

"And if I don't?" she asked.

"If you don't, I can replace you like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "I could have you blacklisted for the way you went about things, coming on to me and such, and you would never work in publishing again—here or abroad," he said.

Miranda took a deep breath. She walked over to the side table and poured herself another glass of vodka, and then another. Once she felt the alcohol sizzling through her veins, she turned around and looked him in the eye. "What do you want?"

"I want to see you on those pretty knees of yours," he said.

Miranda took a deep breath and kneeled in front of him, staring at the carpet.

"Use your hands—and your mouth."

She reluctantly took hold of his cock, roughly stroking as she brought it to her lips. The quicker she got him off, the sooner she could leave. She felt his hand behind her head, holding her in place as she bobbed her head, licking and sucking as he grew hard against her tongue. Eager to be done with him, she cupped his balls tightly and stroked the base of his cock until his hips bucked off the desk and he emptied his hot semen down her throat.

Richard let go of her hair and leaned back against the desk. Miranda sat back on her heels, wiping the corners of her lips with her hand, then wiping her hand on her knee, knowing it would be easier to clean her skin than remove a stain from the Versace dress.

"Are we finished?" Miranda asked.

"Not at all. Come here," he said, reaching out his hand to help her up. He put his hands on her hips and she quickly jumped away.

"Not the dress. Do not touch this dress," she hissed.

"Push it down," he said, pointing at the top of the dress where it rested along her chest.

She did, and pushed her bra down with it. He reached over and cupped her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples as she struggled to stay quiet. She practically choked, swallowing a moan when he twisted her left nipple particularly roughly.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" he asked. "Come here, and lift the dress up," he said, tugging her over to his desk chair. She pulled up her dress so now it was bunched around her waist like a belt, and he sat in the chair, tugging her towards him.

"Wait," she said.

"Changing your mind about your future, Miranda?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm not on the pill. I don't want to get pregnant."

"Ah, just a minute," he said, reaching into one of his drawers and producing a condom. "Will this work?"

"You tell me. You do this often?" she spat.

Richard slapped her across the face, then quickly unwrapped the rubber and sheathed his manhood. He sat back in the chair and pulled Miranda on top of him. "You think so highly of yourself, don't you?" he hissed.

She braced her hands on the back of his chair as he guided her hips onto his lap. He reached around and squeezed her ass as his mouth went to her nipple, sucking and biting, and making her squirm. Her hips bucked as she felt his cock against her clitoris, and she hated that she was physically aroused by the contact.

"Well, you're nothing but a warm, wet pussy."

Miranda closed her eyes and tried to think of something else—anything—but all that came to mind was James. Would she ever be able to explain this to him? And if she did, would he understand that she couldn't help it? That she needed to secure her career, and that she wished it were him instead of Richard? No, she decided. He could never know.

She realized the vodka was finally kicking in as her movements became less her own and more part of the haze surrounding her. Richard guided her off his lap and turned her around, palming her breasts as he pushed her forward onto his desk. She moved aside the folders and cigar box and laid her head on the cool wood surface, reaching her arms above her head to grip the edge.

"I want to hear you beg," he said.

He pressed himself inside of her, and she must have screamed, because suddenly his hand covered her mouth. He said things to her that she could no longer hear. Her blood was pumping so quickly through her body, she felt her pulse in her ears. He continued thrusting, harder and harder, each time, crushing her against the beveled edge of the desk. She was on the edge of orgasm, fighting back and willing herself not to be affected by him in this way.

"Tell me what you want, Miranda," he said. "But keep your voice down."

"Editor— _fuck_ ," she said. "Oh god, Richard. I want— _unggh_ "

"What do you want?"

"Editor in Chief," she said quickly.

He reached up and pulled her hands down, holding them behind her back. "No. What do you want from me," he said. He was inside her all the way, and he began to circle his hips, grinding her clitoris against the edge of the desk.

"Fuck me, oh god. I need—I need to come. Make me come."

He took his hand from her wrists and grasped her hips, thrusting in and out until he felt her muscles squeezing him hard. And then they relaxed.

She lost track of how long they'd been there, like this. She imagined he wouldn't last much longer, and was relieved when he finally pulled out and let her wrists go.

"Ohhhh, _fuck_ ," she moaned.

"Did you like that, Miranda?" Richard asked, taking a tissue and cleaning them up.

She ignored his question entirely and took a deep breath.

"Answer me," he said, grabbing her wrist.

"Of course, wasn't it obvious?" she said. Her brain was telling her to stop and push him away, but her body was on fire. She pushed herself up from the desk and stepped to the side, pulling her underwear up and carefully fixing her dress. "I trust you will keep your word," she said, running her fingers through her hair.

He nodded and walked her to the door, unlocking and opening it. "Keep up the good work, Miranda," he said, loud enough for Julie, his secretary, to hear.

"Thank you, Richard," she said, quickly making her way to the elevator. The whole way down, thinking of what just happened, made her stomach suddenly unsettle. When the elevator doors opened on _Runway_ 's floor, she made a beeline down to her office. She stepped into her private bathroom and shut the door, locking it, before lunging for the toilet.

She sat there for a while, next to the toilet, her head resting on her outstretched arm, thinking over what had just happened. She was disgusted with herself, but if it meant becoming the first female Editor in Chief of _Runway_ before she turned forty, maybe it was worth it. It had to be worth it.

A soft knock at the door stirred her from her thoughts.

"Miranda, sweetie, are you okay?" Nigel asked. "You've been in there a while."

She pushed herself up. "Yes, I'm fi—" she began, but her stomach suddenly flip-flopped and she lunged at the toilet again, expelling any remaining fluids from her system.

"Miranda, open the door," he said, trying the doorknob and realizing it was locked. "It's just me."

She stood on shaky legs and splashed some water on her face before unlocking the door.

"Oh, honey," he said, "you need to go home and rest. Let me call for a car, okay?"

Miranda nodded and hung her head while Nigel helped her to one of the chairs in her office and held out her jacket for her. She buttoned up the jacket, as if it would shield her from the outside world.

A few minutes later, Nigel returned with her bag, handing her an oversized pair of Prada sunglasses.

"Oh, I can't wear these," she said.

"You look like hell, and you're a fashion editor of a leading publication. Whatever you wear becomes the trend. Just own it," he said, putting them on her. He helped her from the chair and to the elevators.

"Really, Nigel, I'll be fine."

"No. Don't worry about anything here—I'll cover it. Go tuck yourself in bed, and I'll come by after work to check on you, okay?"

She nodded and squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Nige."

When she arrived home, she carefully stepped out of the designer dress and threw her underwear in the wastebasket. She took a hot shower, but even the scalding water couldn't help wash away how she felt. Still, she convinced herself it was necessary.

Nigel came by that night, and she was curled up on the couch. He brought some soup, which she didn't feel like eating, and after seeing that she was alive and resting, he left.

Later, James called. He had been busy preparing data for their second quarter earnings report, and explained that he had tried reaching her at the office but her assistant said she went home sick.

"I'm fine, really. It's just a bug. Probably something I ate last night," she said.

"Let me come over?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," she insisted.

On Friday, she woke up feeling even more disgusted, but knew she couldn't play sick forever. She stopped at a clinic for some birth control, then went into the office, and found that focusing on her job was actually a blessed distraction, as long as she didn't run into Richard.

As she left the building at a halfway decent time that evening, she was surprised to find James waiting for her by the curb.

"Hi, what are you doing here?" she said, greeting him with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I missed you, and thought maybe I can convince you to come with me tonight and let me take care of you. Can you take tomorrow off?" he asked.

She quickly pulled out her calendar and flipped through the pages. "Yes—I think. I only have internal meetings. Let me just call my assistant—"

"I already took care of that," he said, taking her hand. "She's rescheduling everything for next week. Shall we?" He opened the car door for her.

She smiled and climbed in the back seat and he followed soon after. They rode for a few minutes in silence, as Miranda's mind chased circles around exactly what she did not want to discuss with him.

Without saying a word, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. She started crying, quietly at first, but then much louder once he kissed the top of her head.

"Talk to me, Miranda," he said. "Let me help you."

"No, I can't," she said. "It's just stress—I'll be fine."

"I hate seeing you like this. I feel so helpless."

"You are helping right now, just holding me like this," she said. "I'm sorry I probably ruined your shirt with this mascara."

"Don't worry about it. Look, when we get home, I'll draw you a nice, relaxing bath, then I'll slip out and make something for us to eat. Will that be okay?" he asked.

She nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist for the rest of the ride home.

After a delicious dinner, they curled up on the couch to watch a movie, and within minutes, Miranda was asleep on his shoulder. He couldn't figure out what was going on with the woman, so he held her and took care of her

When the movie finished, they both got up and got ready for bed. "James," she said quietly. "Can we, um…you know, tonight?"

His eyes widened and he took her hand. "Of course, I just thought maybe you weren't feeling well?"

"No. I mean, I'm fine now," she said, reaching for his boxers and tugging them down. "I want to taste you," she said as she dropped to her knees.

Again, his eyes widened and he backed up to sit on the edge of the bed as Miranda stroked and licked him.

When she finished, she climbed onto his lap and pulled her top off, directing his hands to her breasts as she kissed him. He reached for her ass, and before he could take it any further, she crawled off the bed and stood, her feet on the floor and her body splayed out over the comforter. "Please, James," she said, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

He stood behind her and gently caressed her shoulders, trailing kisses all the way down her back before kneeling and pressing a kiss to her folds as she moved her legs farther apart. He brought her to orgasm twice—once with his tongue, once with his fingers—before she begged him to go inside her.

When he was finished, he took her in his arms and laid her on the bed carefully before crawling in after her. His hands touched her everywhere, while his mouth focused on hers, kissing her lips and softly nibbling at her neck.

Miranda returned his kisses as her own hands explored his sweaty body, knowing he was sweating for her and her alone. She needed that—needed to feel him after the earlier situation at _Runway._ A tear escaped her eye, and James suddenly pulled her into a loving embrace, which only caused additional tears to fall.

She cupped his cheek and kissed him. Gazing into his eyes, she said, "I love you, James. I don't know why I've waited so long to tell you that, but I do love you, and I hope you realize that."

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, too, and actually, this is perfect timing," he said, sitting up and reaching over to the nightstand. He opened the antique cigar box and pulled out a smaller box before nervously turning back to the woman.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks.

James took the ring from the box and held it up as he reached for Miranda's hand. "I love you, too, and I'd like to marry you," he said. "What do you say?"

"Yes! A million times yes," she said, lunging at him to kiss him and wrap her arms around him, knocking the ring from his hand in the process.

"Hey, wait," he said, picking the ring back up from where it fell on the mattress. "This was really hard to pick out. They all looked the same until Nigel pointed out things like the setting and the band," he said.

"You—you asked him to help?" she said. Her heart was melting at the thought of him asking her best friend for advice on the subject. They never really got to know each other well, but she was overjoyed to learn they could compromise for her benefit. She quickly slid the ring onto her finger and kissed James once more. "This is perfect. I am so in love with you James Priestly," she said, hugging him tightly.

He reached over and turned out the light before settling back against the pillows. "Are you opposed to getting a place together?" he asked, softly stroking her shoulder blade. "I mean, now that we're engaged and all."

"I would love to stop paying that horrendous rent for my apartment, just so I can sleep and shower there," Miranda said. "I spend more time here already."

"Okay, well for starters, you can move in here if you'd like. But, I was thinking more along the lines of us buying a home together, with space for guests—"

"—and parties," Miranda added.

"—and a massive walk-in closet for our fashion editor," he said.

"—and children," she said, more as a question than a statement of fact.

"Yes," he said, kissing her softly. "Plenty of room for children, and a garage for the minivan."

"Do you want to stay in the city?"

"I think so, what about you? Where would the future Mrs. Priestly like to live?"

"First, I want it known that you are the only one ever allowed to call me 'Mrs.' okay? When anyone else says it, it makes me feel old. And I would like to stay in the city if we can. Maybe my dream walk-up in the upper east side?" she said, batting her eyes.

"Anything for you, my love," he said. "Sky's the limit."


	7. Oct 8, 1997

**_October 8, 1997 —_**

 _I can honestly say that I am happy. Since announcing our engagement and moving in with James in August, life has gotten exponentially better. I have a reason to leave the office every night, and cuddling next to the man I love has done wonders for my mood._

 _We found a home—a six-bedroom walk up on a quiet street a few blocks from Central Park. Closing is approaching at the end of November, and I have never been so excited for moving day. I never thought I'd be able to afford a home like this, but James is more than financially secure, I've learned, and he is so generous with me._

 _The September issue this year was a hit, and in order to finish the year strong, we need to secure some of the top designers from Paris Fashion Week, which runs the second week of December this year. There has been some restructuring at Elias-Clarke, namely to remove the Publishers entirely. If all goes well, I will be named the Editor in Chief of Runway at the next board meeting in January, a position I've earned with or without any favors._

* * *

Miranda woke on Wednesday morning feeling lousy. Between September and Paris, she hardly had time to take care of herself. Over the past few weeks, it seemed like whatever she ate upset her stomach, and not eating only led her to feel weak and dehydrated. James was a godsend, always making sure there were snacks like fruit and cheese around and encouraging her to take naps and get her rest, but over the past weekend he was out of town for work, and her well-being suffered the consequences.

As she was getting ready, she saw the box of tampons under the sink, next to the hair dryer, and couldn't remember the last time she was on her period. She quickly ran into the kitchen where she kept her pills, and after doing the math and confirming with the calendar, she realized she was late.

A sinking feeling passed through her as she thought of Richard Bannister. She did the math, and that was too long ago. Plus, she had gotten her period twice afterwards. It had to be James.

She finished her hair and makeup, and on the way to work, she stopped at the drugstore and bought an over-the-counter pregnancy test. As she rode to work in the taxi, she wondered what life would be like with a child. She already knew James wanted children, which was a relief, but she wasn't sure how his family would react. His mother was always going on about how Miranda wasn't Catholic, and how it was a sin for them to be living together. She could only imagine what she'd say if she learned they were going to have a baby when they weren't even married.

She tried to calm herself down. She wasn't sure she was pregnant yet. In fact, she may have had her period three weeks ago and just forgot. Or she might have been so stressed that it threw off her cycle. Plenty of explanations.

Of course, the first thing she did when she got to the office was head to her bathroom to take the test. The instructions seemed simple enough—she could hardly believe that at 38 years old, this was her first time taking a home pregnancy test. She followed the instructions carefully, and waited three excruciating minutes before checking the results. Positive.

After washing her hands, she walked out of her office and down the hall to see Nigel, shutting his office door behind her.

"Uh-oh. What's wrong?" he said, walking away from his art table.

"Nigel, I think—" she said, reaching up to dab at the tears forming in her eyes, "I'm pregnant."

He looked up and his eyes widened. He certainly wasn't expecting to hear those words from the editor's mouth. "Oh sweetie, that's wonderful! Are you sure?" he asked. He took her hands and led her over to sit in one of his chairs.

"I think so. I'll make an appointment this week with my doctor to confirm."

"Any idea how far along you are?" he asked.

Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Oh, right, now that you live with your fiancé you have so much sex you can't even keep track," he teased.

"Yes, exactly. But I would guess less than eight weeks. Oh god, I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"Yes you are. You are more than ready," he said. "Have you been feeling okay? No morning sickness or anything?"

"I don't know. I have been tired and nauseous, and I guess it's always in the morning, but I thought it was just stress or something I ate," she said as her hand traced her lower abdomen. "Listen, I want to wait to tell James until I know for sure. And actually," she said, standing up, "does it look like I'm showing to you?"

Nigel watched as she unbuttoned her suit jacket, and the added volume was slightly noticeable now that he knew what to look for. He shrugged, knowing any other answer would make her too self-conscious around the office. "You look fine, and my lips are sealed. You just tell me what you need from me, honey."

"Thanks," she said.

He hugged her tightly and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she left. As happy as he was for her and James, he was a little jealous that a baby was just one more thing taking his friend's attention away from him. Shaking his head, he went back to work.

On Friday morning, Miranda's doctor confirmed her very early pregnancy at four weeks, gave her some prenatal vitamins to start taking, and scheduled another appointment at eight weeks, where she would likely have an ultrasound.

That evening, James and Miranda had plans to meet for dinner in Brooklyn with some of his college buddies who were in town. She knew he wanted her to meet his friends, but tonight she wouldn't be able to enjoy the evening, and didn't want James to worry.

"I'm sorry but something has come up and I won't be able to make dinner tonight," she said.

"Aw, really? Is it work? Are you sure you can't sneak away for a tiny bit?" he pleaded.

"No, I can't. What about brunch tomorrow morning—when are they heading back?"

"Their flight is in the afternoon, so we can do something early, like 11?" he suggested.

"Yes, that's fine. Again, I'm sorry. I do want to meet these people who refer to you by your initials," she added. "I'll see you at home tonight?"

"Yeah, I might try to catch the game at a bar with them, so don't wait up for me," he said.

She gently bit her lip. She wanted him to come home at a normal time so she could tell him the news, but she knew anything she said now would cause him to worry. "Okay, I'll see you when you get home. I love you, Mr. Priestly."

"Love you, too, future Mrs. Priestly," he said, blowing a kiss into the phone before ending the call.

That evening, Miranda curled up in bed with a book as she waited for James to come home. Just after midnight, she woke when she heard the door open. Judging by how much noise he was making, it appeared that James had more than a few beers while he was out with his friends.

"Hi Miranda," he said, walking into the bedroom with a silly grin on his face.

She could smell the alcohol emanating from his clothes, and after a quick kiss, she sent him to shower and brush his teeth as she struggled to keep her nausea at bay. He returned a few minutes later, wearing a clean pair of boxers and smelling of shampoo. Turning out the light, he crawled into bed next to the woman and kissed her softly on the forehead.

"Work go okay?" he said.

"Yes. Did you have a good time?"

"Yep. Knicks won," he said. "I miss you, though. It's no fun riding home from Brooklyn on my own."

"What, don't tell me you were bored in the car?" she said.

"Come on, it was almost an hour, and I was so horny," he said, reaching down and pulling her on top of him.

Miranda realized he was too intoxicated tonight to break the news, so she decided she'd tell him in the morning. "Well I think I can make that up to you," she said, kissing him as she slipped off her panties.

The next morning, James woke to an empty bed and a headache. The curtains were pulled tight. On the nightstand, there was a bottle of Advil and a glass of water, so he took two before getting up and getting dressed.

Miranda was sitting on the couch in the living room with a cup of tea, reviewing some designs for next month's issue. Warm sunlight was pouring in through the windows and Miranda couldn't hide her grin.

James emerged from the bedroom and squinted. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Half past nine. There's coffee in the kitchen. Did you sleep okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, just had a few too many last night," he said.

Miranda chuckled and wrapped up what she was doing before tucking her work back into her bag.

James joined her on the couch with a cup of coffee and kissed her good morning. "You really make the best coffee," he said. "I'm spoiled."

She smiled and watched as he drank from the mug. With each sip, he woke a bit more, and when he finished the mug, she stood and went to the kitchen to empty the rest of the pot into his mug. Her doctor had advised her to limit her caffeine intake, and she made a pot of coffee this morning out of habit, without thinking.

Returning to the couch, she set his mug on the table and took a seat on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he mirrored the gesture and wrapped his arms around her waist. She kissed him, then laid her head on his shoulder.

"I love you James, you know that. I am so looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you, moving into our new house, getting married—I couldn't ask for anything more," she said.

He gently tilted her chin up and met her eyes, kissing her softly, but looking concerned. "I love you too, sweetheart, and I'm looking forward to all the same things as you," he said.

"Even starting a family?"

"Well, yes. We talked about this—"

"Good," Miranda said, interrupting him. "Because in about eight months, we're going to have that family." She gently bit her lip as she awaited his reaction.

"Wait, you—? Eight months…you're pregnant? We're going to have a baby?!" he asked with a smile, his hands on Miranda's hips.

She smiled and nodded, this time unable to prevent the tears from escaping her eyes.

"My god," he gasped. "That's amazing. You're—you're okay, right? I mean, this is good news, right?"

Miranda nodded and hugged him, kissing his cheek. "Yes, this is very good news. A little unexpected, but good," she said.

"Sweetie, why are you crying?" he asked after holding her for a few minutes.

"Hormones?" she chuckled. "No, actually I was so nervous to tell you. We hadn't planned this right now, and I thought—well, I just didn't know how you'd react."

"Oh, darling, I am over the moon. I can't wait for our little one to join our family, and for us to learn how to be parents. God, I love you," he said. "Are you excited?"

Miranda laughed and leaned her forehead against his. "I am, and a little nervous because it's all new to me, but I am beyond thrilled for this journey, and of course, starting a family with you," she said, kissing him. "But tell me, does this complicate things with your mother? I think she already hates me."

James laughed and hugged her tighter. "What she hated is that I waited so long to settle down, and that you and I didn't get married and have children right away. So that seems to have worked itself out."

Miranda took his hand and held it against her abdomen. "They say our baby is the size of a poppyseed right now," she said.

"It's amazing," he said. "When did you find out?"

"Yesterday morning—I realized I was late, and went to see my doctor. I wanted to tell you in person," she said.

"And I was too drunk last night," he said, rolling his eyes. "Will this be okay for you with work? I know you were hoping for that promotion in January."

"Yeah, it should be okay. I think I can conceal it for a while. I'll be in the second trimester by then, but I might not be showing too much. We'll have to play that by ear. It might make more sense for me to tell them in advance," she said.

"Would you want to get married sooner? Sometime before the end of the year?" he asked. "Just something small, a handful of close friends and family. Maybe out in East Hampton?"

"Mr. Priestly, are you volunteering to plan my wedding?" she said.

"Why, Mrs. Priestly, yes, I am. How do you feel about our anniversary?"

"Huh?"

"November 29th. When I quite literally swept you off your feet at the benefit. We could get married on the 29th, then we'd only have one anniversary to remember," he said.

"And you already have that memorized, so I'd say it's an excellent idea," she said, kissing him. "Can we keep it really small? If you want a Christian ceremony, I'm okay with that. I know we can't have a Catholic mass or anything, but I don't want anything big."

"I'll figure something out," he said. "Hey, we should get going if we still want to make it to brunch."

She looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall and quickly jumped from his lap. "Oh right. Let me touch up my makeup, and then we can go," she said, heading down the hall.

"Wait," he said, running after her. He smiled and ran his hands down her shoulders, arms, and waist before pulling her close. "I love you, Miranda."

"I love you, too, but I really need to finish getting ready," she said, kissing him softly before heading back to the bathroom.


	8. Nov 3, 1997

**_November 3, 1997 —_**

 _It's been four weeks since I shared the news with Nigel and James. I'm still trying to keep it quiet at work, but I am already showing—much more than I had anticipated. Between the growing size and frequent bouts of nausea, I don't think it's much of a secret._

 _James and I took a trip out to Baltimore to visit his mother and share our wedding plans for the end of the month. It would be a simple affair, and in lieu of a honeymoon, James planned to join me in Paris at the end of Fashion Week so we could spend some time enjoying the city and its romance. We didn't tell her about the baby, though, I am sure she had her suspicions. At least she had enough tact to keep them to herself…for now._

 _My fiancé—I love calling him that—is fascinated by the changes to my body over the past few weeks. He can hardly keep his hands off of me, and when I'm not exhausted or nauseous, it is incredibly satisfying. I have been feeling more "morning sickness" lately, to the point where I'm even several hours late for work because I cannot physically get out of bed some days. The funny thing they don't tell you is that it's not just limited to mornings. There are some days when I spend the afternoon taking conference calls from the floor of my private bathroom at work._

 _The coming weeks will certainly be a whirlwind for us—closing on the new house, moving day, our wedding in the Hamptons, Paris, announcing the pregnancy, Christmas, New Year's, and Elias-Clarke's annual board meeting. Any other time, I would have felt intimidated by the stressful schedule, but knowing James and our little bundle of joy are here with me through all of this somehow makes it bearable._

* * *

"Miranda, hurry up, we'll be late," James called from the door.

The woman emerged from the hallway, looking pale.

"You doing okay?" he asked, hurrying to meet her and wrapping his arm around her waist. He softly placed his other hand on her growing bump.

"I don't want to miss this appointment," she said, "but I need something to calm my stomach. Ginger ale?"

"Sure, sure," he said, helping her onto a barstool. He poured her a small glass and grabbed an extra bottle to put in her purse. While she sipped the drink, he stood behind her, gently massaging her shoulders. "What else can I do, darling?" he asked.

"I'm nervous," she said. "I know it's only eight weeks, so there's not much they can tell, but I hope everything is alright. I feel so fat already." She put the drink down and smoothed her hands over her abdomen. "Other women have a nice round bump, but I feel like everything from my bust to my hips is inflated. Like a beer belly."

"Oh Miranda, you are beautiful, more beautiful than ever. You most certainly do not have a 'beer belly.' You know I find it incredibly sexy how your body is growing our child," he said, leaning over to nuzzle her neck.

She laughed and swatted him away. "Stop that. My stomach was just getting settled."

When they arrived at the doctor's office, they were led into one of the back rooms where a technician drew some blood from Miranda's arm and another came inside to prepare her for the ultrasound. The doctor arrived and introduced herself to James as she looked up at the ultrasound screen.

"So, what you're hearing is the heartbeat," she explained. "And if you look up here, you can see that the heartbeat is sounding a little irregular, because you're actually hearing two heartbeats."

"What?!" Miranda exclaimed, craning her neck to see the screen. James, who was standing next to her, squeezed her hand.

"Miranda, James, congratulations. You're having twins," the doctor said.

"My god," James said. "Not one, but two babies," he said.

Miranda was speechless, tears streaming down her cheeks.

James leaned over and kissed her cheek softly. "I love you," he whispered. She nodded and closed her eyes.

"This would explain the additional growth and weight gain you're experiencing, Miranda. Five more weeks until you're in the second trimester, and things should begin to calm down by then," she explained.

"The nausea, too?" Miranda asked.

"Yes. Is it very bad? With a twin pregnancy, the hormone levels are rising twice as quickly, so it's common for moms to experience stronger reactions."

Miranda took a deep breath. "Yes, I mean, the nausea has been really awful lately. And when I'm not sick, I am just incredibly exhausted. James has been taking excellent care of me," she said, smiling at him and squeezing his hand, "but, it is what it is."

"I realize this is a lot to take in," the doctor said. "I'll send you home with some literature about pregnancy and childbirth with multiples. So far, everything is looking just perfect. It goes without saying to make sure you're giving yourself adequate rest—that will help with the exhaustion, but probably not the nausea. I see many women end up in the hospital with IV fluids because they're ignoring their body's need for food and rest," she said. "Have you been vomiting, or just feeling nauseous?"

"Both."

"Is there anything else I can do to help her?" James asked.

The doctor smiled. "Well, it always helps to have a supportive partner. I'll give you some samples of anti-nausea medications. They all work differently, and I can't say that one is better than the other. Try them out and see what works for you. In most cases, it's exchanging one symptom for another: eliminate the nausea, add drowsiness, or headaches. There are also some natural remedies like acupuncture, ginger, or fresh rosemary. What it comes down to is that every woman is different, every pregnancy is different," she said, pulling out several pamphlets to send home with the couple. "I will say, if you're unable to keep fluids down for twenty-four hours, go to the hospital. Dehydration can be severe, and the onset is much quicker with expectant mothers who have babies vying for nutrients and blood."

"Let's hope it doesn't get that bad," Miranda said, looking over at James.

"I'd like to see you back again in a month or so—at 14 weeks. If anything comes up between now and then, please don't hesitate to call me. As a first-time mom, I am sure this is all a little overwhelming, and I'm happy to answer any questions for you," she said, turning off the ultrasound and handing Miranda some tissues to clean the ultrasound gel from her abdomen.

"Is it still safe for us to, you know, have sex?" James asked.

Miranda rolled her eyes and softly nudged him.

"What? It's an honest question," he said.

"And one I get very often. Yes, it's absolutely safe, as long as it does not cause Miranda any pain. As the babies continue to grow, certain positions may no longer be comfortable, so just keep in mind that we don't want to cause Mom or babies any discomfort," she said. "Otherwise, it's perfectly fine. The endorphins might even help her to feel more comfortable."

"Thank you, Dr. Lowry," Miranda said.

The doctor smiled and helped Miranda off the table. "I'm sure you'll be just fine. Remember, I'll see you again in a few weeks, but call me sooner if you need anything. And again, congratulations!" she said before walking out of the room.

James opened his arms and Miranda laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him. They stood there for a few minutes in silence, taking in everything the doctor had gone through.

"I'll need to wear an empire-waist dress for the wedding," Miranda said. "It'll be too noticeable in anything else. Something textured and flowy, maybe without a waist entirely so it draws the attention upward to the chest and shoulders…"

"Honey?"

"Huh?" she said, blinking and looking up.

"You can wear a burlap sack and you'd still be the most beautiful bride. I can handle my family—we don't have to hide the pregnancy for them," he said.

"Really?"

"Of course. Darling, is that what has had you so worried?"

Miranda nodded and laid her head back against his chest as his arms moved up and down her back. "They think I'm some kind of slut or something."

"Sweetheart, please. I'll talk to them. They don't think that of you—and if they do, I'll un-invite them. Our wedding should be about what's important to us," he said. "And to me, that's not just sharing the rest of my life with you, it's starting a family and bringing these two little peanuts into the world. That's all that matters."

"Are you sure you're in finance and not a motivational speaker?" she asked.

He laughed and kissed the top of her head as he reached down to take her hand.

"Let me talk with Nigel about a dress, and let's play it by ear. It is just three weeks away, so I can't imagine they'll grow too much by then."


	9. Dec 5, 1997

**_December 5, 1997 —_**

 _James and Miranda Priestly…Miranda Priestly…it has a certain ring to it. Nigel thinks it was worth it for me to marry him for the last name alone._

 _We closed on our new place the week before Thanksgiving, and moved in the next day. Lucky for me, James hired movers to pack up our things and unpack them in the new place. He is so good to me. We only have furniture in about one-fourth of the new house, but we're both too busy now to worry about decorating. Except for the nursery—I already have ideas for that room._

 _Our wedding last week was perfect—not more than twenty people, and really just a celebration of our shared happiness._

 _My babies have been growing a lot, but no one seemed to notice at our wedding. Last week, fatigue and dehydration were wearing on me, and I collapsed in my office and ended up in the hospital. Nigel was so wonderful about everything, so now all of my coworkers know about the pregnancy (though I am not sure if they suspect how far along I am). It's certainly made it easier to not hide my symptoms at work. James and I decided we will wait until Christmas to tell his parents. So far, everyone has been overwhelmingly supportive, and James and I could not be happier._

 _This afternoon, I will be traveling to Paris for Fashion Week, and I am praying that the nausea finally subsides, as I will be in my second trimester. One of the medications Dr. Lowry gave me works really well, so I am hoping I will be able to manage._

* * *

"Miranda, I upgraded us to First Class," Nigel said, handing her a ticket.

"What? That wasn't in our budget—"

Nigel held up his hand to silence her. "I paid for it. It's a congratulations on the baby, the house, the wedding, the job, whatever else you want it to be gift," he said with a smile.

"I know I should protest and say something like 'you shouldn't have,' but honestly, I am just incredibly grateful."

Nigel smiled. "How are you holding up today?"

"So far so good. I'm glad we're going a whole day early, so we don't have to get off the plane and go straight to a show or luncheon or something."

"Agreed. When is James coming?"

"His plane lands on Thursday haven't spent six days apart in, oh, I don't know how long."

"It's going to go by so fast," Nigel said. "Plus, you've got me."

"That is true. Oh, looks like we're going to be boarding now," Miranda said.

They made their way onto the plane, and Miranda moaned a little bit at the delight that was her first-class seat. The chair was a soft, buttery leather, and it was roomy and wide, and she could easily stretch her legs out in front of her. The armrest between hers and Nigel's seats was wide enough for multiple cup holders, and it lifted up if they needed even more room.

Miranda closed her eyes and smiled as she leaned back against the seat. A few minutes later, she sat up and looked around. Nigel was in his seat, gazing out at all of the airport workers moving around on the ground beneath them. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly felt the familiar wave of nausea come over her. Quickly getting up, she made her way to the small lavatory in the front of the plane, where she successfully emptied her stomach of the contents of her lunch, and along with it, the anti-nausea medication she had taken.

So, that didn't work, and now she had an empty stomach, was still nauseous, and the flight attendant was knocking on the door, asking her to return to her seat so they could take off.

She splashed cold water on her face and took a few deep breaths. If James were here, he'd probably wet some paper towels and put them on the back of her neck. Instead, she put her cool, damp hands on her neck and prayed that she could get through the flight.

Nigel had some saltine crackers and ginger ale waiting for her when she returned to her seat. She took a bite of one cracker and pushed the rest away as she closed her eyes and groaned.

"Sweetie, can I get you anything else?" he asked.

"James? He does this—this _thing_ —with his hands on my back. Not rubbing, just, I don't know. It almost tickles."

"Okay, well I can't make James appear, but I can try. Do you want to lean forward for me?"

Miranda nodded, putting her elbows on her knees and resting her head on her hands. "Oh Nige, I can't do this. I need to get off this plane."

"No, you're going to be okay," he said, softly tracing his fingertips on her back. The plane suddenly lurched forward and began speeding down the runway, lifting off and soaring out over the ocean. Miranda was quiet, so he was hoping the ascent hadn't upset her stomach. "How is this?"

"I—I don't know. I—ugh," she groaned, pressing the back of her hand to her lips.

Nigel quickly pulled one of the little white bags out of the seatback pocket in front of them, grateful that even in first class they had 'barf bags.' He opened the bag and put it in Miranda's hand, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Don't worry, sweetie, it's going to be okay," he said, his fingers continuing to circle her back.

After a few minutes, her wrenching subsided, and she dropped the still empty bag to the floor. She sat back and took a deep breath. Nigel could see her face and neck were flushed.

"Is it warm in here?" she asked.

"Here, let's take your cardigan off," he said, helping her out of the sweater. He reached up and turned the air vent on, pointing it at her.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Miranda opened her eyes and slowly sat up, draping her sweater over her shoulders and reaching for the vent. She looked over at Nigel who was trying to hold in his laugh, and she couldn't help but laugh herself.

"Thank you so much for helping me," she said.

"Don't worry about it. You'll pay me back someday, I'm sure." He chuckled, "definitely not anything pregnancy-related, but, you know."

When their plane landed in Paris, Miranda and Nigel both were relieved. Though her stomach had settled after takeoff, she was still mildly nauseous and uncomfortable for the rest of the flight.

They departed New York City just after 7:00 PM, and after a seven hour flight plus the time difference, it was nearly 9:00 AM in Paris. Neither of them slept or ate much on the flight over, so they were both very anxious to get through customs, retrieve their luggage, and make their way to the hotel.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea, or maybe a decaf latte?" Nigel asked as they passed a small beverage cart in the airport.

"Actually, a small latte sounds wonderful," she said, taking a seat on a nearby bench.

When Nigel returned with the drinks—a small decaf for Miranda and a large caffeinated one for himself—they met their driver at the baggage claim, where he already had their luggage stacked on a cart.

"Is this everything?" Miranda asked.

"Mademoiselle, it shows six checked items, and I have all six right here," he said, in perfect English.

"Well then, let's go."

At the hotel, Miranda was delighted to know they had upgraded her room to a suite, however, it meant that she and Nigel were staying on different floors entirely. They split up to get situated in their rooms, and while Miranda was unpacking a few items that would need to be pressed, Nigel knocked at her door.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving. Room service?"

"Oui, oui!" he said, walking over to the desk and picking up the phone. "Your usual?"

"Yes. Well, and maybe a croissant. Or a few," she added.

Nigel grinned at her.

"What? The three of us," she said, gesturing to her abdomen, "have not eaten in the past twenty four hours!"

"No, it's not that. It's just incredible to see you, my best friend, like this. You're going to be such an amazing mother, Miranda. I—"

"Oh please, will you just order something to eat?" she said, rolling her eyes and walking back into the bedroom. She was feeling too self-conscious to accept Nigel's praise at the moment. Most days it felt like she was still struggling with the whole concept of pregnancy, let alone motherhood—of twins.

She stayed in her room until the food arrived, changing into her pajamas and pulling on a robe. When there was a knock at the door, she emerged, and was surprised to see not only two carts full of food, but two dozen white roses.

"What's this?" she asked, pulling at the card: _To Mrs. Priestly, with love. XO, Mr. Priestly_

"Care to share?" Nigel asked as he uncovered all of the food. He ordered a basket of fresh fruit and some various breads in addition to their breakfast, should Miranda want a snack later on.

She walked over and handed him the card. "It's sickeningly sweet, I know." She took her plate and poured herself a cup of green tea and sat at the table.

As they were eating, Nigel could see how heavy Miranda's eyelids were. She was exhausted, and he wanted to make sure she got enough rest—in fact, he promised James he would take care of her.

"You know, I think I'm going to finish my tea in my own room, if that's okay. It's like the fact that I haven't slept in 36 hours is hitting me all of a sudden," he said.

"I know what you're doing, Nigel, and I want to tell you that you do not have to. Just tell me that I look like hell and that I should go to bed," she said, setting down her teacup.

Nigel smiled at her. "Sweetie, go lay down. I'll clean up here. We don't have anywhere to be until tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you," she said. "I just want to get a few hours to take the edge off."

"Whatever your majesty wishes," Nigel said, dramatically bowing.

Miranda rolled her eyes and headed into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She pulled the curtains shut, and was grateful that they were very thick curtains, so the room was perfectly dark. She crawled into bed and reached over to set the alarm clock for 2:30 PM. She hoped to be awake before then, but just in case.

She spent almost ten minutes rearranging the pillows on the bed, and once she was comfortable, she realized the only thing missing was her husband's arm wrapped around her. Tossing the covers back, she reached over and turned on the light, then picked up the phone and dialed his number.

"Miranda?" he answered.

"Yes, honey, oh god I miss you," she said.

"Darling, I do, too. How was the flight? Are you in the hotel now? Did you have something to eat?"

"Yes, yes. Nigel is taking wonderful care of me. The flight was rough, but I'm in the hotel now—my room was upgraded to a suite—and we had some breakfast, but Nigel sent me to bed," she said.

"Good, you need to rest," James said. "But you're feeling okay?"

"Yes, aside from missing you. Oh, and thank you for the beautiful roses. I just spent ten minutes rearranging the pillows, and I realized that I'm just missing you."

"Did you unpack yet?"

"No, just a few things that needed to be hung."

"Go in your smaller suitcase, in the front compartment," he said.

"Okay, um, hold on," she said, setting the phone down on the nightstand while she unzipped the suitcase. She gasped, and ran back over to the phone. "James Priestly, have I told you how much I love you?" she said breathlessly.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice," he said. "Darling, I can't wait till Thursday when I can see you again and hold you in my arms."

"Honey, I'm putting your grey t-shirt on this pillow right now, over my pillowcase. You are perfect, do you know that?"

"Not as perfect as you."

"James, darling, I'm going to get some rest now. Can I call you later tonight before I go to bed? It should be a reasonable hour in New York."

"Sounds wonderful. Sleep well, darling. I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye," she said, hanging up the phone. She switched the light off and quickly fell asleep, her face pressed against James' favorite grey t-shirt.


	10. Feb 14, 1998

**_February 14th, 1998 —_**

 _The last two months have been a whirlwind. After our honeymoon in Paris, I was named the new Editor in Chief of Runway, and I didn't realize all of the publicity that came along with the role. It seems the press are determined to document every unflattering moment of my pregnancy and publish it in the papers. At first, it was upsetting, but James has been wonderfully supportive. I don't know why it continues to surprise me that someone can be so good to me._

 _Today, James sent me to a spa for the entire afternoon, and promises me a romantic dinner at home. I've still been feeling sluggish and achy, but I've had much more opportunity to rest so far this year than I did last._

 _I have my twenty-four week appointment next week with Dr. Lowry. I am constantly amazed at how my body is able to grow these two incredible baby girls. I've already decided this: my daughters are my greatest accomplishment as a human being. After that, little else matters._

* * *

Miranda came home to the townhouse after her spa day, feeling refreshed and relaxed. She hoped James hadn't cooked anything too heavy, since she wasn't really hungry at all.

"Hi honey," he said, greeting her in the hallway. He helped her out of her coat and hung it in the closet. "How was your afternoon?"

"Mmmh," she sighed, hugging him and leaning her head on his shoulder. "It was wonderful and relaxing, and I'm sorry but I just want to—wait, is that freesia?" She pushed away and pressed the back of her hand to her lips as she ran down the hall to the bathroom.

James followed and stood at the entrance to the bathroom. "Honey, what can I do?"

"Shower. You smell like freesia, and it's making me nauseous," she said, looking up at him. "I need to lay down."

"But I have dinner—"

Miranda opened her mouth to respond, but instead turned to the toilet and began retching.

James sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, okay, I'll uh, put the food away and we can eat when you're feeling up to it. I'll go shower," he said.

A few hours later, James crawled into bed next to Miranda and woke her with a kiss to the cheek. "Feeling better, sweetheart?"

Miranda took a deep breath and opened her eyes. "Hi," she said, kissing him quickly. "I'm sorry I ruined your plans for tonight."

"No, don't worry about it. I just wanted to wake you up for a little bit so you can sleep tonight."

She pushed herself up onto her elbow and looked over at James. "Why on earth were you smelling like freesia earlier?" she asked.

"I stopped to get you a little something from Bergdorfs after dropping you off at the spa. I must have gotten sprayed by someone on the first floor," he said. "Just to be safe, I took the bag down to the garage to air out."

"It smelled like Chanel Beige," she said. "I had a similar reaction last week in the office."

James helped Miranda out of bed and led her to the kitchen, where he had the lights dimmed and two long taper candles on the table. There were two wine glasses filled with sparkling water, and two small dessert plates and forks.

"Cheesecake with chocolate sauce?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. "Your mother's recipe?"

"You bet."

"You spoil me," she said. "And I love you for it."


	11. May 14, 1998

**_May 14, 1998 —_**

 _Yesterday, I had my thirty-five week appointment with Dr. Lowry. James wasn't able to join—he's been so busy with work lately. Dr. L was very happy with my progress and said both girls were doing perfectly. I had grown a lot in my third trimester, and it was becoming very difficult for me to get around. I agreed to go on maternity leave beginning next week._

 _One month from today is my official due date. Honestly, I never believed I would make it this far, especially when the nausea and achiness never subsided. I am more anxious than ever to deliver these two baby girls, and I am totally useless at work right now. I suppose this is what they call "pregnancy brain."_

 _Nigel will be covering for me while I'm out, and he's already stepping in for me. I probably don't need to go into the office today or tomorrow, but perhaps reminding everyone just how enormous I am will remind them that I really do need to stay home and rest._

 _My back has been very sore this morning—more so than usual. James stayed overnight in Philadelphia, and I spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. It's embarrassing how unable I am to sleep alone these days. It doesn't help that James' job has been taking him away more often. I can't complain, because I often have to travel or work late hours, but as long as I end up in his arms at the end of the day, it doesn't matter._

 _I hope he is able to take some time off once the girls are born. I know I will need help with two babies._

* * *

Around 9:30 AM, Miranda arrived at the office, walking very slowly and constantly moving and twisting in attempts to relieve the severe pain in her lower back.

"Miranda, can I get you some tea or water?" Tiffany asked.

"Nothing right now," she said, walking into her office and heading straight for the couch. She plopped onto the couch with a grunt, then turned to her side, then crawled off the couch. "Actually Tiffany, is Nigel here?"

"Yes, Miranda. I'll send him in right away."

A few minutes later, the Art Director came in and froze when he saw the Editor. "Whoa, are you okay?"

"I don't know. My back is really sore, and if I can just—if you can maybe rub it right here—?"

Nigel led Miranda to the couch, where she kneeled and leaned against the back of the couch. "How's this?" he asked, rubbing her lower back.

"Harder, please," she said.

Nigel complied, reluctantly. "Miranda, are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable at home in bed?" He couldn't help but notice how flushed she was, and her skin was burning up beneath his fingers.

"James isn't back until tonight. I can't sleep. Keep doing that."

Nigel took a deep breath. "Is it just your back? How's everything else? How did your doctor appointment go yesterday?"

"Fine. I'm apparently measuring at well past 40 weeks, and that the girls are each almost six pounds. Dr. Lowry said she thinks I'll deliver early, but she's sure that the babies will be fine anytime between now and June 14th. Ohhh!" she gasped.

"What is it?" Nigel asked. He was rubbing her back hard, but not that hard.

"It's just another cramp," she said.

"Another? Have you had many?" Nigel asked.

She pushed herself up and sat back on the couch. "Just a few this morning and yesterday." She looked up and met Nigel's eyes. "No…you don't think…"

"I know literally nothing about pregnancy, except what I may have read in _Parents_ magazine."

At that, Miranda shot him a look with a raised eyebrow.

"When your best friend is pregnant and as a gay man you have no other females in your life, you do some research," he said with a shrug. "Do you want to call your doctor, maybe?"

Miranda shook her head and glanced over at the clock. "I'll stay here for a while, and try to time these cramps to see if they're regular or becoming more frequent."

Nigel grinned and sat next to her. "My god, do you know how excited I am? You'd think it were my kids in there," he said, placing his hands on her belly.

Miranda covered his hands and held them in place. "I hope you know that both James and I want you to be a part of their lives. You were raised Catholic, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, James wants the babies baptized, and we were hoping that you and his sister would be their godparents," she said.

"I would love to. Oh gosh, that's incredible."

"Don't say anything—we wanted to wait until they were born to officially ask, but, you know, I can't keep a secret," she said with a laugh. "Ooh!"

"Another cramp?" Nigel asked, glancing at the clock.

Miranda nodded as she carefully breathed in and out, her eyes closed tight. After about thirty seconds, she opened her eyes and softened into the couch. "How long since the last one?" she asked.

"Um, seven minutes. Miranda, how many 'cramps' did you have this morning before you came in—like five or fifty?"

"Somewhere in the middle. Twenty, maybe."

"Miranda!"

"Nigel! Don't shout at me," she said. "I'm a pregnant woman having contractions."

"Well, at least you're not in denial," he said. "I read that you're supposed to drink a lot of water and have a good meal now, since labor can be exhausting."

"Are you sure you don't have a weekly subscription to _Parents_?" Miranda said, rolling her eyes. "Fine. I'll do a steak, and that garlicky spinach pasta thing."

"Okay, I'm going to have Tiffany order that, then I'll take care of a few work things and be back," he said.

"I'm not helpless, Nige, but thank you."

Once Nigel left the room, Tiffany brought in a glass of water and a pitcher and set it on the table without a word. Miranda drank a full glass, then walked over to her desk and sat down to call James.

"Priestly."

"Priestly, it's Priestly," she said.

She heard a few muffled words before he came back on the phone. "Sorry, just finishing up breakfast with our client. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"James, I think I'm in labor."

"What?! I—but—it's a month early!"

"I know. Look, I saw Dr. Lowry yesterday and she said the babies were fine. She anticipated that I would go into labor early just because of how big I already am, and, well, I couldn't get comfortable last night. This morning, I woke with some cramping and lower back pain, and it's just been getting a little more frequent."

"Are you by yourself?"

"No, I'm at the office. Nigel is here, along with about 500 other people."

"I'm going to leave right away. I'll be there in a few hours."

"Okay. And James, it's not urgent—I think it will be twelve hours or more before the babies are born—but I just want you here with me. Nigel is amazingly helpful, but he's not you."

"Sweetheart, I will be there as soon as I can. I'll plan to come by the house unless I hear otherwise."

"No—I'm probably not going home. Not alone, anyway."

"Okay, I will see you soon. Honey, we're going to be parents very soon. I love you."

"I know. Love you, too."

She hung up the phone and felt another contraction coming on. This time, she glanced at the clock and jotted down when it started and ended.

Nearly an hour later, Nigel brought her lunch in and saw that the woman had recorded seven contractions since he was gone. He was getting nervous, so he stepped outside and asked Tiffany to have a car ready if needed.

They ate lunch, and at one point, Miranda had to get up and walk around because the contraction took her breath away.

"Sweetie, your contractions are about 5 minutes apart, and they're lasting like 45 seconds. I think we should call your doctor and see what she has to say," Nigel said as he continued to rub her back.

"Okay."

Nigel's eyes widened. For Miranda to agree to call the doctor—she must have been very uncomfortable, more so than she was letting on. Nigel took the cordless phone from Miranda's desk and called Dr. Lowry's office, explaining the situation to the nurse. She explained that she would be putting a page into Dr. Lowry to call him back immediately, but that if Miranda's water broke or if she started bleeding, to bring her to the emergency room right away.

"Sweetie, she's going to page the doctor and have her call us back. Why don't you use the bathroom and just double-check that you're not bleeding and that your water didn't break."

Miranda nodded as he helped her from the couch. Once she was situated in the bathroom, Nigel pulled the door shut and stood outside.

"What time did you say James would be here?" When she didn't respond, he grew concerned. "Miranda? Are you okay?"

"Ohhh! Yes, just… _whoo_ , that one was really bad."

Nigel helped her to the couch, where he again gave her some water and encouraged her to rest. No matter what position she was in, the pain was the same, so she opted to curl up on her side and try to close her eyes.

Dr. Lowry called back and urged Nigel to have Miranda get some sleep. There was nothing they could do for her at the hospital right now unless her water broke or her contractions became more severe. She did mention that at Miranda's exam yesterday, Twin B was turned horizontally. She did what she could to try and guide the baby into place, and that could possibly explain the mild contractions Miranda was feeling. Nigel tried to explain to the doctor that Miranda's contractions were hardly mild, but as a doctor who sees a lot of false labors, he understood where she was coming from. He promised to call her directly if Miranda's condition worsened.

Miranda had fallen into a fitful sleep on the couch in her office, but at least she was resting. She laid there for several hours, asleep, until James arrived. Nigel glanced at the clock—it was nearly 3:30 PM, and he silently wondered what had taken him so long.

When James approached, Nigel explained what the doctor said, and James said he was going to take her home where she could rest properly.

Nigel was a bit miffed at that, but he agreed she would be able to rest better in her own house, in her own bed. At least here at the office, he could be with her. If James took her home, he knew he wouldn't see her again until the babies were born.

James leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

She blinked a few times before seeing James and smiling.

"Honey, I'm here now. I talked to Nigel, and I want to take you home so you can rest properly. How are you doing?" he asked, his hand traveling down to her belly.

She took a deep breath and stilled her movement for a while. "I—I think I'm okay. The tightness is gone."

"Nigel mentioned it could have been just some mild contractions after the doctor's exam yesterday?"

"Oh, uh, no. I mean, he didn't tell me that. But he talked to Dr. Lowry, so I guess," she said. "Help me up—I have to go to the bathroom," she said.

James helped her off the couch and to the bathroom. When she was finished, she walked over to the windows and did some stretches, reaching her arms over her head, twisting and turning, then reaching forward for the arm of the couch.

"I'm stiff from sleeping for a few hours, but I feel good, strangely. I mean, I haven't felt like this in months," she said. She poured herself another glass of water and proceeded to drink it. "Actually, I think I'm going to try and do a little work, do you mind?"

"Miranda, the doctor said you should rest," James said.

"And, apparently, she also said it might have just been mild contractions from the painful way in which she tried to twist Twin B into position yesterday," Miranda said.

James rolled his eyes.

"Look, I was planning for tomorrow to be my last day anyway. I'm going on leave starting Monday. I really just have to go through a few things and then I can go home, and I'll even start leave a day early," she said.

"Fine. I can't force you to go home, but at least let me stay here with you. I've got my laptop, so I can get a little work done, too."

"Of course," she said, kissing him softly. "I'm glad you're home."

"Miranda, this is _Runway_ , not 'home,'" he said with a smile.

"James, right now it's as much my home as our house, because you are here," she said, walking over to her desk. For the next hour, she went through her email inbox and answered what she could, flagging everything else for either Nigel or Tiffany to handle. She finished the third-quarter budget plan, and since they were at the mid-point of Q2, she updated their plan vs. actual tracking so that Nigel wouldn't have so much to worry about.

She was sure to drink plenty of water, which also meant many trips to the bathroom. As she shut the door of her private bathroom for the umpteenth time that day, she wondered if whoever designed this office was eight months pregnant. She couldn't think of any other situation where a bathroom attached to the office would be convenient.

She asked Tiffany to call Nigel in so she could show him where she had everything saved on her computer, should he need it. Just as he was walking in, she felt a very sharp pain in her abdomen. The pain was so intense, it took her breath away and she wasn't able to cry out. Instead, she just gripped the edge of the desk and leaned forward, staring at a spot on the carpet until the pain went away.

"Miranda!" Nigel called, running up to her and reaching for her hand. She squeezed it tightly as he ran his arm up and down her back. "Breathe, sweetie. It's almost over. You're doing great. Almost there—keep breathing," he said.

He felt her grip loosen, and he carefully guided her to the nearby chair. He handed her a glass of water as she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath.

"Honey, what is it?" James asked, suddenly at her side. Nigel refused to let go of her right hand, so James moved to the other side.

"It was another contraction, but a lot worse," she said.

"But you were fine after you woke up," James said, confused.

"That's common with women in labor," Nigel said.

"Oh, and how would you know?" James hissed.

"Excuse you! I have been here taking care of Miranda for just as long as you have. Just because she goes home to you at night doesn't mean—"

"Doesn't mean what?"

"It doesn't mean that I'm any less useful to her. She needs you to be supportive when she's in pain!" Nigel shouted.

"But how did you know that she was doing a good job? Or that it was almost over?"

"I didn't! I just fucking told her that! That's what husbands are supposed to do!"

"Stop!" Miranda hissed as she squeezed both of their hands tightly. She closed her eyes and was holding her breath.

"Breathe, sweetie," Nigel said as he rubbed her shoulder with his free hand. "Come on, breathe in and out. You can do this. You're almost there."

"That's it, honey," James said. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and placed his free hand on her belly. "You're doing great. Keep breathing."

When her grip loosened for a second time, Nigel kneeled next to the chair and handed her a glass of water with a straw. "Do you want to walk around a little and see if that helps?" he asked her.

She shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to focus on catching her breath.

"Come on, we're going home," James said.

"I can't make it," she said. They could both see that she was physically exhausted.

Nigel stepped away and called Dr. Lowry, explaining to her the severity and frequency with which her contractions returned. Dr. Lowry advised him to bring Miranda to the hospital right away, because if she was actually in labor, they'd be able to give her an epidural at this point. He asked Tiffany to call an ambulance to meet them in the back at the service dock, and to bring a wheelchair and meet them in the lobby. The hospital was just around the corner, so he was sure they would be there very quickly.

When Nigel returned, Miranda was crying and shaking her head as James whispered something to her.

"I just talked to Dr. Lowry and she wants you to go to the hospital right away. They're going to meet you in the lobby and take you through the service entrance to avoid any cameras," Nigel said.

"I don't think I can walk that far," she said.

"They're bringing a wheelchair."

"Nigel and I will help—I'll carry you if I need to," James said.

Nigel was secretly relieved that James stopped fighting him on everything.

"Come on, let us help you up," James said. She put both hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself up, relieved when she felt her husband's arms linked through hers, helping her to her feet. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck.

Nigel gathered her coat and bag and asked Tiffany to hold the elevator for them. Miranda was having another contraction, and when he looked up to meet eyes with James, he felt relieved. As much as he wanted to help Miranda, the idea of fatherhood terrified him, and he was glad James was able to take over.

"Help me get walk her to the elevator?" James whispered.

Nigel nodded and they helped Miranda to stand up straight, then each linked an arm through hers to support her as they took the short walk from her office to the elevator. Tiffany held the door while they entered the elevator, then silently indicated to Nigel that the paramedics were waiting downstairs. He wasn't sure how Miranda would react to an ambulance, but if he could guess, he would imagine she would be pretty resistant.

As soon as the elevator doors shut, Miranda bent over, grimacing as another contraction came through. This time, she howled just a little bit, and Nigel leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"It's almost over, Miranda. Your baby girls will be here soon and all of this will be forgotten. I am so proud of you, sweetie," Nigel whispered, quiet enough so James wouldn't hear.

Miranda gasped and looked down at the floor of the elevator. "My—my water just broke."

"It's okay, you're doing great," James said. "We're going to get you to the hospital, and soon we'll be able to meet our daughters."

The elevator doors opened on the first floor and both security and two paramedics were waiting. The security guard reached inside and put the key in the elevator panel to hold it there on the first floor while the paramedics helped Miranda into the wheelchair.

"Miranda, you're going to be great," Nigel called as he watched the paramedics wheel her towards the service entrance. "I'll come see you at the hospital soon," he said.

"Thank you, Nigel, for everything," James said.

In the ambulance, they tried to keep her calm as they did a quick exam. The paramedics told her she looked to be dilated about 6-7 cm, and warned her that she should not push just yet, even if she feels the urge.

Once she was taken into a room in the Labor and Delivery unit, she changed into a hospital gown. The nurses asked her to get back into bed so they could connect two fetal heart rate monitors and prepare an ultrasound. Dr. Lowry came in, saw that both babies' hearts were beating strongly, and the ultrasound confirmed what they saw yesterday, that Twin B was still in a transverse position.

The anesthesiologist came in for the epidural, and Dr. Lowry asked him to wait while she finished her exam. Miranda was actually closer to 9cm dilated and about 95% effaced when she checked, so she quickly moved away and turned off the ultrasound, helping Miranda to turn to her side for the epidural.

"Miranda," she said, "soon, you're not going to feel any of the contractions anymore. I do want to discuss the possibility of a C-section with you, though. We can see anywhere from two to forty-five minutes between the first twin and the second twin's birth. Assuming all goes well with Twin A, there will likely be five or so minutes before your uterus begins contracting again to deliver the second baby. During this time—and you'll still have your epidural, so the most you'll feel is a slight discomfort—I will need to reach in and see if I can't turn Twin B so she can be delivered vaginally."

"And if not?" Miranda asked.

"If I'm not able to turn her, or if your uterus begins contracting too soon and I'm not given the chance, we will want to do a C-section right away. We'll be closely monitoring her heart rate throughout this, but I need you to know that if at any point I sense some trouble, we're going to prep for C-section and we'll have her out in sixty seconds."

"Okay, okay. I just want them to be healthy," she said.

"Great. That's my job to make sure that mom and babies are both healthy," she said. "Now, as we discussed yesterday, we'll need to do the twin delivery in the operating room, just so the staff can be on hand for any complications. Dad, I'll need you to change into scrubs. Miranda, we're going to start taking you down there now. I'm guessing the next time I check you will be 10cm and complete. Are you ready for this?"

Miranda smiled and nodded, the effects of the epidural already setting in.

Several minutes later, James joined them in the operating room. There was a team of about ten doctors and nurses, two baby bassinets, and several large trays of surgical instruments.

"How are you doing?" James asked, moving her hair cap up a little so he could kiss her forehead.

"I'm great. All of the pain from earlier is gone, and I just want to meet our babies so badly," she said.

"The first one is Caroline Ann, and the second one is Cassidy Elizabeth, right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Caroline and Cassidy." She grimaced for a minute. "I think the epidural is wearing off."

"What does it feel like, Miranda?" Dr. Lowry asked. She was looking at the monitors, and quickly gestured for the nurses to adjust the bed and get Miranda's legs up in the stirrups.

"Like I have to go to the bathroom, or like I just need to push something."

"Okay, good, good. Moms are usually able to feel that through the epidural, so we have nothing to worry about. Looks like it's time for you to start pushing, so why don't you and James get ready, and I'll give you my count."

Miranda leaned forward and James wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She held his hand tightly and took a deep breath. As the doctor counted _One, two, three, push!_ , Miranda pushed down with all her might.

A few minutes later, she repeated. And again. And again.

"Okay, Miranda, we can see her head, so we just need you to give one big push. This one might actually hurt more than the others, but we need you to push hard and hold it, okay. You're going to keep breathing, but keep pushing until the pressure is gone or until I tell you to stop. Got it?"

Miranda nodded and took a deep breath. When the doctor counted down, she pushed with everything she had, screaming until she felt a bit of relief.

"The head's out!" Dr. Lowry said. But the exertion was too much for Miranda. "Get her some oxygen right away," the doctor said. Both babies were holding steady on the monitors, but no matter how she twisted and tugged, she couldn't get the first baby's shoulders out.

Miranda's eyes blinked open.

"Welcome back," the nurse said with a smile. She looked over at the monitor and told Miranda she'd need one more big push in a few seconds. _One, two, three, push! Push, push, push! Hold it—keep pushing! Keep pushing, a little more, there. Relax._

Dr. Lowry quickly suctioned the baby's airways and the little girl let out a loud wail. Two nurses clamped the umbilical cord, and Dr. Lowry handed the scissors over to James to do the honor. A nurse set a sterile blue sheet over Miranda's chest, while another nurse brought the baby to Miranda, laying her on her chest.

"Oh my god," Miranda cried. "Hello, Caroline, darling," she said, brushing the baby's cheek.

"She's losing a lot of blood," Dr. Lowry called. "I think Twin B's placenta is starting to detach."

The nurse quickly pulled the baby away from Miranda's arms and carried her to the other side of the room. There was a flurry of activity, and James was led out of the room while one of the doctors took Miranda's oxygen mask away and replaced it right away.

"What's going on?" she asked, seconds before succumbing to the anesthesia.

Hours later, she woke up and quickly reached for her belly. It was smaller and softer, and there was a bandage on one side. She felt an incredible soreness between her legs, and as she tried to sit up, she felt a searing pain in her abdomen. "My babies!" she cried.

"Shh, sweetie, it's okay, they're okay."

"Nige?"

"Yes, it's me. James is with the babies—he didn't want to leave them alone," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Oh god, Nigel, what happened? I remember seeing Caroline, and then a nurse took her away."

"She's fine. They're both perfect. Caroline was 5 pounds, 14 ounces, and Cassidy was 5 pounds, 6 ounces. Cassidy had to be delivered by a C-section because of her position and there not being enough time to twist her around, but they are both totally healthy," Nigel said. "Miranda, I am so proud of you. I can only begin to imagine what the past eight months have been like, and after the past twelve hours, I am truly in awe of you."

"What time is it?" she asked.

"About 4:00 AM. Cassidy was born just minutes before midnight."

"That all happened very quickly," she said.

"I know. But how are _you_ doing, Miranda? Are you in any pain?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Just a little. Nothing compared to yesterday. Can I go see the babies?"

"No, they'll bring them in here. Because of your incision, they don't want you getting out of bed yet," he said. He reached over and pressed the call button on the bed and a nurse came through the door.

"Can I see my babies?" Miranda asked.

"Of course," the nurse said with a smile. "Just give me a minute. Dr. Lowry also wants to check and make sure your bleeding is under control. But you're looking great, considering," she said before she stepped out.

"What did that mean? Considering what?"

"Um, so you may have lost a lot of blood and needed a few transfusions," Nigel said. "But you're fine now."

"Nigel, tell me everything you know," Miranda said in that tone that let him know this was not negotiable.

"It was very scary. I was out in the hallway with James—this is before Cassidy was delivered—and the doctor came out and said they had given you three pints of blood already, and that they couldn't stop the bleeding. Cassidy's oxygen was getting cut off, and, well—"

"Well? Well what?"

"The surgeon asked if James wanted them to save Cassidy's life, or yours."

Miranda froze.

"It doesn't matter. You're both okay, and that's all that counts," Nigel said.

"What did he say?" Miranda asked quietly.

"He said to save your daughter."

Miranda brought her hand up to shield her eyes as she turned her head. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Nigel hugged her tightly, kissing her forehead and trying to calm her down.

"Sweetie, take a few deep breaths. It's important to keep your blood pressure down, they said."

Miranda nodded and looked at him, her lower lip trembling.

"What matters is that you're both alive and healthy," he repeated. "If they asked you, what would you have said?"

"My baby, of course."

"Which is what James said."

"He's supposed to fight for me, too. It shouldn't have been that easy for him," she cried.

"Sweetie, I didn't say it was easy for him. I'm sure it tore him up inside. He knew they needed an answer quickly, though. The worst thing would have been to lose you both because he couldn't decide," Nigel said. He considered making a _Sophie's Choice_ reference but decided not to.

Before he could say anything further, two nurses came in with bassinets, and James was with them.

"Let me see Cassidy," Miranda said quickly.

The nurse carefully picked up the baby and laid her in her mother's arms. Miranda whispered a few things to her and kissed her on the forehead, her own tears falling onto her daughter's cheek.

"How is she?" James asked Nigel.

"Sore, exhausted, and really emotional. I think she's feeling really vulnerable right now, and maybe a little guilty. She needs you," he added.

James nodded and walked over to pickup Caroline, then joined Miranda, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Miranda, I'm going to go get some rest. I'll be back later this morning to say hello and bring you some clothes and stuff, okay?"

Miranda nodded. "Thank you for everything, Nigel." She turned to look at Caroline and then looked up at James. "I can't believe it—everything happened so fast," she said as she started crying again.

He tried to console her, but the babies were in the way, so he set Caroline in her bassinet, then took Cassidy from her mother's arms and set her in the bassinet as well. Then, he returned to the bed and climbed in next to Miranda, pulling her closely and holding her while she cried onto his chest.

"Honey, you are so amazing. Our daughters are perfect and healthy, and you are perfect and healthy. I am the absolute luckiest man in the world. I don't know what I've done to deserve you, but you know, you're incredible. I love you so much," he said.

Miranda just sat there silently, crying in his arms.


	12. May 30, 1998

**_May 30th, 1998 —_**

 _Today is my 39th birthday. I am fairly certain James forgot, but just this once, I suppose I will let it slide. This morning, I was released from the hospital, along with both of my babies. They're down for a nap right now, and I know I should try to get some rest, too, but I just want to sit here in their nursery and stare at them. They're in an unfamiliar place, and I don't want them to be scared when they wake._

 _They've already grown in the past two weeks, and while my movement is still somewhat limited as I heal, I've been spending a lot of time with them bonding as I feed them, or just laying in bed with them on my chest. They are the most precious beings I've ever seen, and every day, every hour, I fall more and more in love with them._

 _James is out running some errands now. I never thought the babies would change anything between us, but they have. Not Caroline or Cassidy, but I think more the circumstances of their birth. I feel like I can't talk to James anymore. He works a lot and is very eager to do things that require him to leave the house. I miss my husband, the man who would take care of me when I wasn't feeling well, bring me gifts for no reason, and just remind me every minute of every day how much he loved me._

 _I know I'm not helping the situation, and I know it's childish to feel this way, but after Nigel told me how quickly he made that decision in the hospital, I just can't look at him the same. Is it possible to be jealous of my husband for giving all of his attention to our daughters? That's how I feel. I need him—both for the babies and for myself. Instead, it's like he shut me out now that I've given him what he wanted._

 _I shouldn't say such things. I still love James. And I spend most of my days telling my girls how much their father and I love them. It's not a big deal—only when I'm sitting here by myself writing in my journal do I feel so alone._

* * *

Caroline lay awake in her crib, staring up at the stars on the ceiling of their nursery. Miranda laid her hand on the baby's stomach, gently soothing her and helping her to feel comfortable in the new bed.

Cassidy, too, was awake, and Miranda could tell that she was about to start screaming as her wide eyes searched the room.

"Come here, baby," she said sweetly as she picked up the baby and held her against her chest. She walked around the room a little bit, helping her to familiarize her surroundings, then walked over and checked back on Caroline, who was falling back asleep. She made her way to the rocking chair and carefully took a seat before unbuttoning her top and beginning to feed Cassidy.

"You are my little angel, baby. My miracle, my fighter. I love you so much, princess," she said, gently rocking the baby as she nursed.

Later that night, after they had bathed the babies and put them to sleep, Miranda joined James in the kitchen to straighten things up. James' sweatshirt was hanging on one of the kitchen chairs, and when Miranda went to pick it up, she paused. It smelled like Chanel Beige.

"James, were you walking through Bergdorfs in this ratty old sweatshirt?" she asked. "It reeks of freesia," she said with a chuckle.

"No, I—I mean, I must have had it on under my coat," he said.

"With all these mysterious shopping trips, I'd expect a present every week," she added with a smirk as she tossed the sweatshirt into the laundry basket.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked up at him and suddenly, she knew she had lost him. That was Chanel she was smelling, and it didn't come from walking through Bergdorfs. She wanted to ask him about her, what she was like, how everything fell apart, but asking meant learning things she wasn't quite ready to know.

"Well, I'm just going to take this laundry downstairs," she said after some time, turning away and reaching for the basket.

"No, let me," he said. "Please, I know you're supposed to be resting. It's enough that you have to climb up to the bedroom."

Miranda shrugged and let go of the basket, instead turning to walk up the staircase to her bedroom. As soon as she was inside, she shut the door and dialed Nigel's number.

"Hello?"

"Nigel," she said, sniffling. "It's James."

"What? Honey, did he say something?"

"There's someone else. He said 'I'm sorry.' It was the Chanel Beige. I can't—" her voice broke off as gut-wrenching sobs took over. She didn't care if James heard her all the way downstairs.

"Sweetie, I am so sorry. What can I do?"

"I don't know," she cried.

"I'll find a list of the best lawyers in New York. I'll setup consultations with all of them for you so that James can't use them. If you want to bring the girls here, we can make room. Or, I can come stay with you. Wait—did you kick him out?"

"I didn't say anything yet, but yes, I think I will. Oh Nige, how does this happen?"

"Don't think like that, sweetie. He's an asshole if he's willing to give you up like that. Look, you better go talk to him. Don't take that cheater back. Call me whenever you need. I love you."

"Thanks, Nigel. Love you, too."

Miranda hung up the phone and looked at herself in the mirror. She was still in shock. She took a deep breath and went to check on the girls, who were both sleeping soundly. By the time she returned to her room, James was in bed, watching television on a low volume. Miranda crawled into bed a few minutes later without saying a word. James turned off the TV, and they sat in silence for a while.

"Who is she?"

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"Why, James? What changed? I thought we were so good."

"We were. And then we were going to have the babies and we were still good. And then you got your promotion and I got mine, and…yeah."

"I would have tried, you know. Had I known you were unhappy," she said. "I would have tried to be better."

"Miranda, please. Let's not do this. We had something really great. We have to beautiful perfect daughters. We will forever be a part of each other's lives, so let's try not to hate each other," James said.

Miranda sniffled and buried her head in her pillow.

"Come here," he said, rubbing her back and coaxing her towards him. "I'm sorry, Miranda, but we'll work something out."

"I hate what you're doing to me," she cried, hitting her fists against his chest. "I want you to leave. I can't live with you anymore—not like this. This is the twins' first night home. And it's my birthday. And now it's the day we broke up."

"I know, and I'm sorry. We'll figure it out in the morning," he said.


	13. Ch 13 (present day)

**_Present day, June 2023 —_**

"Mom, why didn't you ever tell me the whole story about Dad?" Cassidy asked.

"I didn't want you girls to grow up thinking your father was an asshole."

"How did you handle it? I mean, we saw him all the time. I remember him living with us until we were three years old," Cassidy said.

"I still loved your dad, despite everything, and he really was a good man. I needed help at home, especially once I went back to work, and I wanted you and Caroline to be with family more often than any nanny. Your dad and I were able to work it out. We still had a lot in common—we both adored you and your sister, and I think somewhere deep down I was hoping that it would all be a dream I would wakeup from."

"So when were you actually divorced?"

"We were legally separated by our first wedding anniversary, but we still lived in the townhouse, just different bedrooms. He had the whole third floor to himself."

"Just like Stephen."

"You know, after I told your dad that Stephen and I were divorcing, a few weeks after I got back from Paris, he took me out to dinner. He said he missed us and that he realized what a fool he was and that he still loved me and wanted to marry me again," Miranda said. "Of course, by that time, I had already fallen for Andrea, so it didn't matter."

"Mom! Why didn't you ever tell me that?" Cassidy said.

"You were too young at the time," she said.

"Why didn't you give Dad a second chance, back when we were little?"

"I think because he never asked. I'm so sorry if this is upsetting to you," Miranda said.

"No. It's not. I just—if Mike cheated on me, I think I would give him a second chance. Does that make me a fool?"

"Of course not, darling. Everyone deserves second chances. But don't you worry—Michael is wonderful, and so good to you."

"Like Dad was to you."

"Sweetheart, let's not talk in what ifs. You can't live life wondering what will happen or what people will say. I learned that when I fell in love with Andrea," she said. "I have an idea—why don't we invite your Dad out here for dinner on Friday, just the three of us?"

"Where's Andy going to be?" Cassidy asked.

"She has a work dinner, so she's spending the night in the city. I think it's important for you to hear all this from your dad. I think it will help."

"Okay, fine. Won't that be weird, though?"

"Only if you make it. Your dad and I have had many a conversation about our relationship over the years. It's only time we share it with you. I know Caroline will be jealous, but she'll have her turn. I think you need us both right now," Miranda said, reaching for Cassidy's hand.

"Thanks, Mom. Did you let Andy read this journal?"

"No. She found it tucked away in a box in the attic when we were moving. I had already told her everything, and she didn't want to read it."

"Why not?"

"Well, she really wasn't interested in seeing how I fell in love with your father, or how I discovered he had been cheating on me."

"Yeah, okay, I can see that. Thank you for giving it to me."

"Of course, sweetheart," Miranda said, placing her hand on her daughter's belly. "I'll never forget how incredible it felt, carrying you and your sister around inside of me, and then finally seeing your beautiful faces. I've never been more in love in my life," she said. "And don't tell Andrea I said that," she added with a chuckle.

"Mom!" Cassidy shrieked. "I can't wait for Max to come out. I just want to meet him, and not be so uncomfortable. I am so done with being pregnant."

Miranda smiled. "Well, I'm glad that you are off for the rest of the summer—the perks of being a teacher, I suppose. Michael was smart to send you out here to so that Andrea and I can pamper you for the next five weeks. Are you ready for lunch?"

Cassidy took a deep breath and sat up, stretching her back. "Not yet. I'm getting stiff, so I'd better walk around a bit."

"It's a little cooler out today. We could walk down to the beach, or just head out to the veranda for some fresh air if you want," Miranda said.

Cassidy nodded and stood from the couch. "Ugh, I just want to go take a nap."

"I know, darling. Come on, you know you need to move around," she said, taking her arm and leading her towards the patio doors. "You can rest in my lounge chair. I'll even give you one of my famous foot massages."

"Andy is going to be so jealous," Cassidy said.

"Well, that's what she gets for working during the day and not wanting to be disturbed. It can be our little secret," Miranda said.

They walked outside and across the patio towards the pool area where the lounge chairs were sitting beneath the shaded pergola.

"Mom, do you think Andy is actually jealous?"

"What? Why?" she asked, fluffing the pillow and helping Cassidy onto the chair.

"Well, you've been saying how much you're looking forward to spending time with your grandson, and you're already planning trips to Boston to stay with us and babysit. And Andy has to work."

Miranda sat on the edge of the chair next to her daughter. "Darling, I'm sure she wishes she could spend time with you, but that's not for you to worry about. This just means you'll see her more often on the weekends, and she'll probably make up constant excuses about checking up on a story in your neighborhood."

Cassidy laughed. "Of course Andy would do that."

"Alright, enough chatting. I want to make sure you get some rest so our little baby boy is healthy and strong," she said, gently brushing a strand of hair out of her daughter's eyes.

"Mom? Will you stay out here with me? Lay next to me?"

Miranda paused for a minute, then a smile stretched across her face. "Of course, bobbsey. You feeling alright?"

"Yeah, just want to soak up more time with my mom before I have to be a mom," she said.

"Cassidy, you and you sister will always be my daughters, no matter how old you are or if you have children of your own. Always," she said, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, darling."

"Thanks, Mom. Love you, too," Cassidy said as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

A short while later, Andrea emerged from the house. She decided to take the afternoon off, and after spotting Miranda and Cassidy curled up on the lounger, she knew she made the right decision.

She quietly pulled a chair up next to Cassidy and laid down next to her. Miranda was awake, and she caught the woman's eye. "Everything okay?" she whispered.

Miranda nodded.

"I love you," Andrea whispered.

Miranda smiled. "I love you, too," she said. She closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to her grown daughter's forehead. "And I love you, my angel," she whispered. "Always."

.

.

The end.


End file.
